Time Out of Mind
by Counse
Summary: Post-The Telling. COMPLETED! Exciting conclusion with Sydney facing off with Sloane!
1. Default Chapter

Hong Kong, Time Unknown  
  
"W-what?"  
  
"Syd. . . .you. . ."  
  
Sydney Bristow could only stare at the man she loved as he struggled to find the words. She didn't blame him. She couldn't find the words.  
  
Michael Vaughn finally looked up, and she could clearly see the pain and grief in his green eyes. He shook his head. "You've been missing for almost two years."  
  
Inwardly, she winced. He said that already. She was hoping that had been a dream.. .a joke. . .something. . .anything. This didn't make sense. How could she have missed two years of her life? The last thing she remembered was that horrific battle with Francie's double. Oh, God. Francie. And Will. Her father. Her mother.What had happened to them all during those two years?  
  
She felt compelled to look at Vaughn's left hand again. At the small band of gold on his ring finger. Clearly he had gotten married in the two years that she had been. . . .missing. She shook her head, hoping the action would clear the swarming thoughts in her brain.  
  
"N-no. . .that's. . " She stood up abruptly and her movement startled him.  
  
"Syd-"  
  
"This is. . .wrong. I-I wasn't gone. I didn't go anywhere! I was in L.A.! And it wasn't two years ago! It was. . ." She unconsciously glanced at her left wrist but saw no watch there. "I don't know how long ago that was but it wasn't two years! I can't have been missing for two years with no memory of it! It's impossible! I-"  
  
And then blackness enveloped her and she welcomed it. At least when she was unconscious, things could be exactly as she remembered it.  
  
Hours later. . . .  
  
Consciousness prodded at her until she was forced to open her eyes again. It took her eyes a minute to adjust to the dim lighting. At first she didn't recognize the room, and that gave her hope. As if that whole scene with Vaughn had been nothing more than a bad dream.  
  
"She's. . .well, physically she appears fine. Mentally and emotionally, I don't know."  
  
His voice was coming from the other end of the room. She looked around, trying to locate him, and as she did so, that miniscule shred of hope died. She was in the CIA safe house in Hong Kong. The same room. Only now, instead of sitting on the hard, wooden chair, she was lying on the bed. She felt tears pricking behind her eyes and fought against it.  
  
Oh, God. Please. This can't be true.  
  
"Yes, that's fine."  
  
She turned towards the sound of his voice and found him in the corner, nearest the door, talking on his cell phone. How many times had she seen him do just that? Yet, this time it was different. Everything was different now.  
  
She began to rise and felt the room begin to spin. She groaned softly and sunk back down into the pillow.  
  
"I'm not. . .I've got to go."  
  
She sucked in several deep breaths of air, and could feel the dizziness settling down with each breath.  
  
"Syd?" She opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was looking at her in concern, his forehead knotted with those familiar lines. "You okay?"  
  
Despite herself, she smiled. There was such a comforting familiarity in hearing him ask her if she was okay. "You ask me that a lot."  
  
His concern turned to confusion. "I do?"  
  
She nodded. "All the time."  
  
"I guess," he said, sounding confused. "Do you think you can sit up?"  
  
"Yeah," she said softly and slowly eased herself into a sitting position. "Can I. . .is there any water?"  
  
He nodded and went over to the desk and retrieved a bottle of water. He uncapped it and handed to her. She took it and gulped down nearly the entire bottle. He watched her in silence, even after she was finished drinking.  
  
"Vaughn?" she prompted.  
  
He sighed. He picked up the wooden chair and placed it in front of her. Slowly, he sat down and even then he didn't say anything right away. "I. . .I'm not sure what to say or do here."  
  
"You could start by explaining what happened in the last two years."  
  
"Syd, I don't think-"  
  
"Vaughn, I'm fine. I think I'm over the shock now." Her voice didn't sound convincing, and she could see that he didn't believe her.  
  
He shook his head. "We should wait until we get back to L.A. so that you can be debriefed properly."  
  
"No!" She looked at him pleadingly. "Vaughn, please. I can't wait for another day or two to find out what's going on. I mean I'm apparently missing two years of my life. I think I have a right to know what's happened in those two years."  
  
"Syd, there are protocols that-"  
  
"Screw protocol!" she cried. "Protocol didn't just wake up in some alley in Hong Kong missing two years of its life!" He shook his head and looked down at the floor. She could see the play of emotions across his face as he struggled to decide. "Vaughn. Please."  
  
He looked up and for the first time since they saw each other in Hong Kong, they made full eye contact. Neither was prepared for the naked emotions they saw in each other's eyes and both hurriedly looked away. After several minutes, she heard him sigh before he said softly, "Okay."  
  
"Thank you," she said softly.  
  
He rubbed his hand across his face and the ring flashed in the light. She ignored the sharp stab of pain she felt at the sight of his wedding band and forced herself to concentrate on the issue at hand. "Um, why don't you tell me what your last memory was? Before you fainted, you mentioned something about L.A.?"  
  
She nodded. "Right. I was at home and-" She felt her voice quaver as she recalled the fight she had with Francie's double. She squelched the rise of emotions she felt and took in a deep breath before she continued. "I found out that Francie was the one doubled. And. . .we fought. I-I shot her and then I blacked out. Next thing I know, I was waking up in the alley here."  
  
Vaughn didn't say anything after she finished. In fact, he was quiet for so long that she had to force herself to look at him. He was staring at some spot over her right shoulder, his face a mixture of concern and confusion.  
  
"Vaughn?"  
  
He shook his head. "I-I. . .your last memory was of you fighting Francie and shooting her in your house in L.A.?"  
  
"Francie's double," she corrected. The distinction was important. She could never in a million years fight and shoot the real Francie like that.  
  
"Syd, that's. . ." His voice trailed off and he shook his head again. "That makes no sense. What do you mean 'Francie's double'?"  
  
She looked at him to see if he was joking. Of course he wasn't. Now was definitely not the time for jokes. But why the confusion over the double? "Vaughn. . .you know what I mean. Project Helix and Dr. Markovic. There were two subjects doubled remember? One was Markovic himself. The other was who we first thought was Will but was really Francie."  
  
If it were possible, Vaughn looked even more confused. "W-what!"  
  
She felt an odd sense of déjà vu. It felt exactly like when she had first woken up in that alley. Nothing had made sense. All she had felt was confusion. . .and fear. And then when Vaughn had shown up. . .some of that confusion had dispersed. Only to be replaced by a more heightened level of confusion. And now? She had the distinct feeling that she and Vaughn were engaging in two very different conversations. She was genuinely scared about going any further with this. Who knows what else he would tell her? Yet what choice did she have?  
  
"Vaughn? Why do you look like this is the first you've heard about Project Helix? About Markovic?"  
  
He slowly turned his gaze back to her. "It is."  
  
Oh, God. I had a feeling he was going to say that. "How can you not have heard about Project Helix before? You were on the assignment with me! It wasn't even that long ago. . .even if you figure in the two years that I've apparently lost!"  
  
He stared at her, as if deciding how best to proceed with a highly agitated subject. "Syd, I-I don't know what you're talking about. Project Helix and whatever assignment we were supposedly on. . .that. . .it never happened. It couldn't have happened."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because the last time I saw you was on the pier in Santa Monica." 


	2. Chapter Two

A/N - The usual disclaimers apply of course. Many thanks to those who have read and reviewed this. I know things are confusing but I'm writing this so that as Sydney starts to figure things out, you will too. That way you can go along for the same, mind-warping ride! ( As always reviews, comments and anything else is welcome!  
  
Still in Hong Kong  
  
Sydney didn't know how long she sat staring at Vaughn after his latest bombshell. She was trying to piece together what he had just said. Santa Monica. The pier. That was the last time she saw him? But that was. . .nearly two years ago.  
  
She felt an ache beginning in her head and reached up to rub her temples. This whole thing felt like an ancient Japanese puzzle box. She had seen them in her many travels and they were designed to be almost impossible to open. Just like the puzzle box where if you made a wrong move, you'd only find yourself hopelessly lost and even further away from the solution, so it felt like now. Talking to Vaughn only served to confuse and alarm her even more.  
  
"The pier in Santa Monica? You mean after my mission in. . ." She paused and frantically searched her memory for where that mission had taken place. "In. . .Morocco?" She knew his answer even before he nodded. "That's the last time you saw me?"  
  
Again he nodded and this time, she saw the flash of pain in his eyes. "Yes. I mean I heard from you via your dead drop of the mission profile, but after you left for Sao Paulo, you went missing."  
  
"W-what happened?"  
  
Vaughn looked at her for a beat. "You sure you want to know? I think you've been through enough already, Syd. Maybe we should wait until you can be debriefed in a more. . .controlled environment."  
  
"No."  
  
He sighed. "Um. . .like I said, we knew you were headed to Sao Paulo to follow-up on Jacqnoud and his plans for Dhrien Patel. We received your mission profile and sent you a countermission profile. I thought the mission went according to plan until-" He stopped abruptly and rubbed his hand across his face agitatedly.  
  
"Until?"  
  
"Your father reported that you had gone missing."  
  
"Missing?"  
  
"SD-6 investigated of course. In the end, they classified you as missing, presumed dead."  
  
She shook her head. "W-what? How? I-"  
  
"Syd," Vaughn said in concern.  
  
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "You said SD-6 investigated?" He nodded. "So my father probably filled you in right?" Another nod. "What did he tell you?"  
  
"According to Dixon, you separated at the party when you went after Patel. That was his last communication with you. Patel later showed up at the conference again but you were nowhere to be found."  
  
Her memory of that mission was coming back to her and she suddenly realized something. "Oh, my God. Patel. H-he had a bomb implanted into his heart. D-did we manage to deactivate it?"  
  
Vaughn shook his head. "No. That was a terrible blow to the entire world when that happened."  
  
She winced and lowered her head into her hands. This. . .whatever it was she had suddenly found herself in. . .she didn't like it. A renowned peace activist and world leader had been killed. She had been missing for two years. Vaughn was married. She could only wonder what had happened to everyone else. She was almost too afraid to ask. Yet she knew she had to.  
  
"Syd. . .what happened?"  
  
She shook her head. What was she supposed to tell him?  
  
Well, Vaughn, after that, I found out that my mother killed your father. That Sloane was obsessed with some 15th Century scientist named Rambaldi. That a prophecy that Rambaldi wrote featured me as a key player thereby prompting the FBI to arrest me until you and my father busted me out to disprove said prophecy. After which I found out that Will had gotten himself into some serious trouble by investigating Danny's death. Then Sark kidnapped him and when we went to Taipei to rescue him, you got trapped by a Rambaldi device and was nearly killed. And then my mother turned up not- so-dead and shot me. And that was just the next 8 or so months.  
  
"What's Project Helix?" he asked. "Or Francie's double?"  
  
She shook her head. "It's. . .you know what? Maybe you should fill me in since I'm clearly confused about things."  
  
"That's not surprising," he said gently. "You must have been through a lot."  
  
"You too," she said, and involuntarily looked at his left hand.  
  
He saw her looking at his wedding band and he shifted uncomfortably. "It's. . .we all went through a lot."  
  
"Is Will okay?"  
  
"Will's fine. He'll be happy to see you."  
  
She didn't press the issue. She still didn't know what was going on, but she had at least figured out that everything after the Sao Paulo mission was now moot. If she hadn't managed to save Patel with Dixon, then nothing else was the same either. And that would mean that Will wasn't lying in her bathtub, bloody and dead. For that, she was thankful.  
  
"And Francie?"  
  
Vaughn sighed. "Syd, after you. . .disappeared, we had to place both Francie and Will into protective custody. At least while SD-6 was still active. The last I heard, Francie was married and living somewhere on the East Coast."  
  
She shook her head. This is too weird. It's like I'm hearing about my own life for the first time. "Francie's married?"  
  
Vaughn nodded. "When SD-6 and the Alliance ceased to exist, there was no reason to keep them under protective custody anymore. And Francie opted to move east with her husband."  
  
"W-wait. . .SD-6 and the Alliance is gone?"  
  
"We took it down several months after your disappearance."  
  
She nodded, as if she were absorbing what he was telling her, but her mind was racing wildly, trying to piece together all the information and having very little luck. SD-6 and the Alliance had still been destroyed. That's something else to be thankful for.  
  
"So what happened to Marshall? Dixon?"  
  
"Marshall's with the CIA now. Dixon asked for a non-field duty placement and the last I heard, he was stationed in the Langley office."  
  
"The last you heard?"  
  
He sighed. "I, uh. . .I left the CIA a year ago. Shortly after we raided the Alliance."  
  
She stared at him, but he avoided making eye contact. "You left the CIA? Is that what you meant when you said they asked you to come back to explain?" He nodded. "Vaughn. . .I. . .why? I mean you. . .where do you work now?"  
  
"At the NSA."  
  
There was so much she wanted to ask him about that, but forced herself to hold onto those questions for the time being. There were more important things that she needed to find out.  
  
"What about my father?"  
  
"Syd, I don't think-"  
  
"Vaughn."  
  
He sighed. "Your father's. . .well, officially he's been declared missing but the CIA thinks he's gone rogue."  
  
"What!"  
  
Vaughn looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry."  
  
"W-what happened?" There was no response as he continued to stare at the floor. "Vaughn!"  
  
He cleared his throat and continued to stare at the floor, but he answered her. "When you went missing, your father took it. . .really hard. He was instrumental in bringing about the Alliance's collapse. After that, he took himself out of field duty and quickly moved up the ranks. He was actually Director of Operations for a while but. . ."  
  
"But?"  
  
Vaughn exhaled slowly. "I'm not really sure about all the details, Syd. Like I said, I left the CIA but from what I've heard, about a month ago, your father told Kendall he was going to meet someone. . .important. The CIA hasn't heard from him since but there's intel indicating that he's doing something. . .we don't know what. But it's definitely not sanctioned by the CIA or any other agency."  
  
She shook her head. "N-no. That's. . .no. That doesn't make sense."  
  
"Sydney," Vaughn began, finally looking up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be telling you all of this. This is clearly too much for you."  
  
She brushed aside his concern. "No, it's fine! I want. . .no, I need to know this."  
  
Vaughn sighed. "I really think we shouldn't go-" He was interrupted by the peal of his cell phone. He looked almost relieved at the interruption and got up to answer the call.  
  
"Yes?" he said and then listened to the response. "O.K. We'll be there. Thanks." He folded his cell phone up and returned it to his jacket pocket. "There's a plane waiting for us."  
  
"We're going back to L.A.?"  
  
"Don't you want to?"  
  
She shrugged. Yes, she wanted to get back to familiar grounds. But what was familiar these days? Nothing and no one was as she remembered. It was as if the life that she remembered from the last two years had all been some dream. What was she going to find in L.A.?  
  
"Syd, it'll be okay. I know things are. . .confusing but it'll get clearer."  
  
She doubted that but she nodded. "Right. I guess I'll be meeting with a psychologist right?" She looked up at him. "Is Barnett still working with the CIA?"  
  
He frowned. "How'd you know about Dr. Barnett?"  
  
So that's a 'yes.' Well at least that's one familiar face. Of course, once Barnett gets even a glimpse of my psyche, I'll be lucky if I'm not regulated to a padded cell. "It's. . .uh. . .you probably mentioned it or something."  
  
He looked doubtful but shrugged. "Yeah, Barnett's still there. But you won't be seeing her. The interim director of operations wants to debrief you personally first."  
  
"Kendall?"  
  
He shook his head. "This is so strange. It's like you're living in a different time. Everything in the last two years has just. . .you don't know any of it and it's. . ."  
  
"Vaughn, it's okay. We'll. . .I'll figure it out." She inhaled. "So I'll be meeting with Kendall first huh?" With my luck, he'll still be the same pain in the ass.  
  
"No," Vaughn said softly, looking at her intently. "After your father took off, the CIA needed someone who'd be in the best position to figure out what he was up to."  
  
She smiled slightly. Kendall definitely wasn't the person to try and figure out her father's game theories. "So if it's not Kendall, who is it?"  
  
He didn't answer right away, but stared down at the floor for a bit. She winced inwardly and prepared for the latest bombshell. Vaughn looking down at his feet was never a portent of good news. "Your mother." 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N - Usual disclaimers apply of course. I have tried in the last two chapters to format this story and have failed! Wah! Somehow between my MS Word program and uploading to fanfiction.net, all the bolds, italics and whatnot gets lost. So. . .until I figure it out (and if anyone out there wants to pass along some helpful hints - I will be forever grateful!), thoughts will be denoted by words within [ ]. Bold words will be changed to all caps. Anything else, I'll give you a heads up. Hopefully that won't confuse you anymore than you already are! LOL!  
  
As always, thanks to those who are reading and reviewing. I get such a kick out of all the reviews, and I know you are all confused but I swear, it WILL get clearer. Otherwise, I'll have pretty much failed as a writer here, hmm? Seriously, a word of warning here. . .for those of you who think we've done some time traveling. . .you might want to brace yourself for a rather jolting cliffhanger at the end of the chapter. :-]  
  
************STILL in Hong Kong**************  
  
"M-my mother?"  
  
Vaughn looked at her in concern. "I really think-" He didn't have a chance to finish because in that instant she lunged at him, catching him off-guard which allowed her to knock him off balance. He fell to the floor with a dull thud. "Sydney!"  
  
She ignored him and pinned his left arm behind his back while maintaining the pressure on his back with her knee. She quickly patted him down and located his gun, which she confiscated. Checking to see that it was loaded, she released the safety and then stood up, aiming the gun at him. He stayed immobile on the floor as she edged away from him and towards the door.  
  
"Get up," she commanded quietly. He looked at her for a beat and then slowly stood up. He held his arms to the side, slightly away from his body and with his palms facing upwards.  
  
"Sydney," he said in a calm, soft voice. The kind of voice you'd use on an irrational person who was perched on the ledge of a rooftop.  
  
She gripped the gun tighter. "Who are you?"  
  
"Syd-"  
  
"I said who are you!"  
  
"Look, I know this is all-"  
  
"Shut up!" She glanced around the room quickly. The window was behind him but she didn't want to chance an escape route that way. The door was the easiest route, but she didn't know what she'd find on the other side. "Give me your phone." Slowly, he removed his cell phone from his jacket pocket and then slid it over to her. She bent, never taking her eyes or the gun off of him and scooped up the phone. She glanced quickly at it before she stuffed it into the back pocket of her jeans.  
  
"You don't want to do this."  
  
"I said shut up!" she cried, trying to think of a plan. But she still couldn't get pass the shock and trauma of the last few hours. She suppressed her frustration and turned on him. "Who are you? I know you work for my mother so you can't be Michael Vaughn. The real one at least."  
  
"Syd," he said in the same calm voice although she could see the desperation in his eyes. "It's really me. I know this is all confusing to you but I swear, I'm Vaughn."  
  
"No, you're not! Not if you're working for my mother! Irina Derevko is a known terrorist and there's no way she would be head of operations at the CIA! This is some sick game you're playing and I want to know what it is!"  
  
"W-what!" He shook his head. "I-Irina Derevko? Syd-" He looked at her in confusion. "Your mother. . .she's not a terrorist. Look, I know this all seems like -"  
  
"And if you were really Vaughn, there's no way you'd be okay with Derevko heading anything at the CIA. She killed your father!"  
  
"She. . .what! Syd, what are you talking about?"  
  
She continued to aim the gun at him. This was all too much. And the only explanation that seemed to make sense was that this had to be some elaborate mind game that her mother was playing with her. It wasn't Vaughn standing there across from her. Vaughn would never work for her mother. And her father wouldn't have abandoned the CIA. He'd gone rogue before but not like this. And Will. . .she shook her head. Even this didn't make sense. If her mother was playing some sick and twisted mind game, then, in reality, Will would be dead. And so was Francie. Her head was throbbing in pain and she inhaled, fighting against the pain to think clearly.  
  
She knew she couldn't have it both ways. Either this was a game and things were exactly as she remembered, including the deaths of her two best friends, or this wasn't a game and everything that was happening now was real. She didn't like either of those options. Was there any other option though?  
  
"Syd?"  
  
She looked back at him. He hadn't moved. He was still standing in the same, non-threatening stance and looking at her in concern.  
  
"I-if you're really Vaughn, then what happened when we first met?"  
  
He looked at her for a beat. She could see the struggle in his eyes as he tried to decide if the best course of action was to engage her. Finally he sighed and said, "You came into the CIA and said you were an agent at SD-6 and wanted to work as a double. You had this pink wig on and your face was swelling. You looked pretty banged up. You spent hours writing this incredibly long statement about everything that had happened up until that point. I think I called your statement 'Tolstoy-long.'"  
  
She could feel herself faltering but held on. "Y-you could have learned that somehow."  
  
"Syd," he began and sighed. "O.K. How about when I first gave you the real layout of the Alliance and SD-6. We had some stupid argument about drawing a map. And after I gave you the instructions for dead drops you asked me, with this chip on your shoulder attitude, to show you what a paper bag looks like again." He smiled at the memory. "I thought you were a brat and no doubt you thought I was some macho jerk whose tie was knotted too tightly."  
  
[Oh, God.] She felt herself lowering the gun and backing away from him until her back hit the door. "T-this-" She felt the tears rising up in her throat, and this time she had no energy or will to stop it. A small sob escaped her lips and she slumped into the ground, as sob after sob wracked her body.  
  
He was by her side in an instant. Gently, he took the gun out of her hand and then he sat down next to her and gathered her into his arms. He held her tightly as she cried. For a long while the tears flowed. After a long while, she was out of tears and she just sat there, on the dirty floor of the CIA safe house, her head on Vaughn's shoulder and stared at some spot on the floor. Her mind too overwhelmed and tired to process much more.  
  
"Syd," Vaughn said softly, his hand still stroking her head soothingly. "We'll figure this out, okay? I promise. We're gonna figure this out."  
  
*******************CIA Jet, heading to Los Angeles****************.  
  
How she slept, she didn't know. But sleep she did. She managed to hold on long enough to board the small private plane that the CIA had provided. Once she was buckled into her seat, she surrendered to the sweet call of a dreamless, peaceful sleep.  
  
She didn't know how long she slept, but when she awoke, the plane was still in the air and Vaughn was once again, talking softly on his cell phone.  
  
"Yes, I think that's best. I don't know how she'll react to anything anymore."  
  
She scanned the cabin and found him sitting up near the door leading to the cockpit. He was sitting with his back to her and was unaware that she was awake. Her spy training kicked in and she focused on his end of the conversation.  
  
"I don't know. She seems to have no memory of where she's been the last two years, and yet. . .she seems aware of things that she couldn't or shouldn't be aware of. It's. . .strange." There was a pause as Vaughn listened to the reply. "No, she didn't take the news well. I think it might be best if you held off on meeting with her for the time being."  
  
She straightened slightly. Vaughn sounded like he was talking to her mother. She still couldn't figure out whether her mother had anything to do with these strange events. But she wasn't going to let her guard down.  
  
"Yes, yes. The safe house in L.A. would be best. We should ease her into the evaluations." She watched as he lifted his arm to check his watch. "Another hour or so." Another pause. "O.K. That's fine. And yes, I'd like to be there."  
  
Vaughn mumbled a 'goodbye' before snapping his phone closed. He sat there for several minutes before he got up and made his way back to where she was sitting. When he saw that she was awake, he smiled and took the seat across from hers.  
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"O.K. I guess." She glanced around the cabin. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. It was strange. The last time she saw him, they were planning a romantic weekend getaway. Her feelings for him hadn't changed at all. They still felt fresh. As if she had just kissed him goodbye in his car yesterday. And yet, the person sitting across from her wasn't the Vaughn that she had last seen.  
  
She glanced quickly at him and noticed that he too was avoiding eye contact. He lifted his hand and swiped his nose quickly. She smiled involuntarily. No double or clone, no matter how well-trained could mimic Vaughn's mannerism so precisely. Even so, this Vaughn was as much of a stranger to her as a double or clone.  
  
She cleared her throat. "Um. . .I-I'm sorry about what happened at the house. It. . .this is all. . ." She stopped and shook her head. "I didn't mean to attack you like that."  
  
He smiled. "You haven't lost a step in your offensive abilities."  
  
She smiled back and for a brief instant, she felt their old connection before it was broken and awkward silence descended upon them once again. "I, uh, I heard you on the phone. We're headed to another safe house?"  
  
He nodded. "I, uh I mean we, thought that would be better for you. You don't mind do you?"  
  
"No," she said, glancing out the window. "Where else would I go? I'm assuming I no longer live where I used so I have no home. And my friends-" Her voice cracked and she bit down on her lip to keep from crying. She refused to cry anymore.  
  
"Syd," he said gently leaning towards her. "It'll be okay. It'll just take some time. But we'll work it out."  
  
She looked at him then. His eyes held such anguish that she knew she couldn't take his offer, no matter how much she wanted to. She couldn't pretend that things hadn't changed when clearly they had. And it was going to do her no good to hang onto her feelings for him. He was married. She was a screwed-up, amnesiac spy. Whatever had happened between them before she lost her. . . memory or whatever it was she had lost. . .that had been. . .a dream maybe. . .but it wasn't real anymore and she couldn't hold on to that.  
  
"Vaughn, it's. . ." She stopped and inhaled deeply. "I'll be okay. I'm not your asset anymore. Whatever happens next, I'll handle it. You don't have to worry about me. I'm sure the CIA will take care of me."  
  
He winced imperceptibly but she saw it. She looked away quickly, not prepared to deal with the flood of emotions. "Syd, I can't. . .you shouldn't go through this alone."  
  
[But I am alone.] She clenched her jaw in resolve and turned back to him. "I sort of have to in this case. No one else lost two years of their life. No one else can go through it with me." She smiled, hoping to convey the strength and bravery that she wasn't feeling. "Besides, you're not CIA anymore. You'll probably be heading back to the NSA once we land right?"  
  
He was about to respond when the pilot came out from the cockpit and interrupted them. "Excuse me, folks. I just wanted to let you know that we're approaching LAX, so you should prepare for landing."  
  
"Thank you," Vaughn said softly. Once the pilot had returned to the cockpit, he turned back to her. "We can talk more later." And then he got up and returned to his seat in the front, not giving her a chance to say anything more.  
  
************************Los Angeles, CIA Safe House************************  
  
She'd been in this house before. But yet she hadn't. It was the same safe house that they had placed Agent James Lennox in after she and Vaughn had extracted him in Cayo Concha. But that hadn't happened. Yet, if it hadn't happened. . .how could she have imagined so many details that were real? If those memories weren't a dream, what were they? Barnett, Kendall, Lennox, the CIA safe house. Was she psychic or did she simply have prophetic dreams? Somehow, she doubted either of those explanations.  
  
"There's uh, some clothes and stuff for you in the bathroom. I think the fridge and cupboards are stocked pretty well."  
  
She nodded absently as she took in the house. Everything was as she had remembered when Lennox was here. The furniture. The lay out. If she had disappeared before SD-6 and the Alliance had been destroyed, there was no way she could have been in this house before now. So how could everything be as she 'remembered'? Something very strange was going on. Something way beyond memory loss.  
  
She suddenly thought of something. "Vaughn?" He turned and looked at her. "D-do you have a tattoo on your left arm?" His expression gave her the answer before he even uttered a stunned, soft 'yes.' She closed her eyes and inhaled. If she had been shocked before she was completely and utterly freaked now.  
  
"H-how did you know about my tattoo?"  
  
She opened her eyes and shook her head. She didn't know anything anymore but she knew that what she remembered was real. Very real. And suddenly, she was beginning to realize something that had first occurred to her when Vaughn had mentioned the pier. Something about the date and her conception of time.  
  
"What day is it today?" she asked abruptly. She already suspected the answer but she needed confirmation.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Today's date! What is it?"  
  
"May 7th."  
  
"What year?"  
  
"2003." 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N - Usual disclaimers. Yadda, yadda, yadda. Sorry it has been a while since the last update but 'real life' interfered and I got swamped. Also, my muse and I got into a disagreement and I had to give her a stern talking- to! But things have worked out and here's the latest installment. As always, reviews are appreciated. Not to bribe anyone or anything but reviews tend to make me write and post an update faster. :-]  
  
[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts.  
  
// // denotes recalled conversations.  
  
**********CIA Safehouse, May 7, 2003**********  
  
[May 7th, 2003. May 7th. . .2003?!] She pondered that date. It was right and yet. . .it wasn't. Taking in the time that she had spent in Hong Kong, and the time zone changes they had gone through in flying back to LA, that was right. It would be around May 7, 2003. Yet. . .if she had been missing for 2 years. . .shouldn't it be closer to May, 2005?  
  
"Sydney." Vaughn's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. "You didn't answer my question."  
  
"Question?"  
  
"How did you know I had a tattoo on my left arm?"  
  
She stared at him helplessly. How was she supposed to answer that question? Simply? [I've seen it.] Of course he'd ask her how she'd seen it and she's say. . .what? So the simple answer was out.  
  
Then, what? The complicated answer? [Well, Vaughn apparently I haven't been missing for two years because I do remember things that are turning out to be very real and yet, I don't know other things that I should so I'm suffering from some weird form of amnesia.] So that answer wouldn't work either.  
  
She settled on the only thing she could. The truth. Or as close to it as she could get. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  
  
He stared at her for several minutes and she could see the play of emotions in his eyes. Puzzlement. Concern. Empathy. "Try me."  
  
She smiled wryly and shook her head. "I'd rather not."  
  
"Sydney-"  
  
"You know what?" she cut in. "I'm kind of tired. Would you mind if I rested a bit?"  
  
"No," he said softly, although she could see that he wasn't altogether pleased at being so curtly dismissed. "I'll uh, check in with the Operations Center."  
  
She nodded before she retreated to the bedroom. Once there, however, she wanted to do anything but rest. Thoughts were whirring through her mind at a dizzying pace.  
  
[What the hell was going on? Did I or did I not lose two years? If I did, then what am I remembering? Implanted memories?]  
  
She took several deep breaths, willing herself to calm down and think clearly. She forced herself into her 'Operative-mode.' Cold, calculating, extremely rational. There was very little room for emotions when she was in this mode. That's what enabled her to carry out 'distasteful' missions. How she managed not to leap across the SD-6 briefing table and beat Sloane senseless every time he had gone into some patriotic spiel when sending them on yet another mission to benefit him and the Alliance.  
  
[Sloane.]  
  
She stopped her pacing and sat down on the bed. Could Sloane be responsible for her situation somehow? What had happened to him? Vaughn had said that the Alliance and SD-6 were gone but where was Sloane? She shook her head, realizing that she had never asked Vaughn.  
  
[How ironic. The one person who had motivated me for so long was the one person I didn't even think to ask about.]  
  
Quickly, she jumped off the bed and practically ran into the living room. She breathed a small sigh of relief when she saw that Vaughn hadn't left yet. He was standing near the couch, his back to her, and talking on his cell phone.  
  
"Vaughn!"  
  
He jumped slightly at her voice and whirled around to face her. At the look on her face, he quickly disconnected his call. "Syd?"  
  
"Where's Sloane?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Sloane!" She repeated impatiently. "When the CIA took down the Alliance and SD-6, what happened to Sloane?"  
  
Vaughn was looking at her with the now-familiar expression of confusion mixed with concern. "Sloane's missing, but presumed dead."  
  
**********CIA Safehouse, May 8, 2003, Morning**********  
  
She hadn't slept much, if at all, the night before. Somehow she had convinced Vaughn that she was well enough to be left alone. He had finally conceded, but she hadn't heard him leave until very late.  
  
The entire night, she had laid in bed. She stared at the ceiling and let her thoughts flow. Learning that Sloane was missing, and probably dead had left her even more confused than before. She had thought that if he was still on the CIA's Most Wanted list, that somehow, and in some way, he could be responsible for all this. And that would mean there was a way out of this. Catching Sloane would mean being able to resolve all of this.  
  
Now, after a night of endless 'what-if's,' she had to concede that it had been too simplistic a premise. Catch Sloane and fix everything. To be honest, however, she had been operating under that same premise for a while now. Hadn't she based her entire decision to become a double agent on that premise alone?  
  
She hadn't cared about the effect it would have on her life. Or Will's. Or Francie's. Vaughn's. Her father's. Dixon's. No. She had only wanted one thing. Sloane. To pay for his crimes. She had naively thought that once that had been accomplished, things would be simple once again.  
  
But that hadn't been the case. Implanted memory or whatever it was, but what she remembered of her takedown of the Alliance hadn't exactly ended up with things becoming simple once again. When she had downloaded the information from Server 47, which had led to the Alliance's downfall, things seemed to have grown more complicated. Dixon's life had been turned upside down. Will and Francie had suffered from the fall-out too. And Sloane just became more dangerous and unpredictable.  
  
[So what made me think it'd be different here? Wherever the hell 'here' is.]  
  
She shook her head as she waited for the coffee to finish brewing. She still couldn't believe that Sloane was dead, however. Despite what Vaughn had told her.  
  
//We had satellite confirmation that Sloane was at the Alliance headquarters when it was raided. Apparently they had a fail-safe which was activated and leveled much of the building. We're still analyzing the DNA samples we retrieved from the ruins and so far, there's no positive confirmation on Sloane but satellite surveillance showed him entering the building shortly before it blew and there's no sign of any underground bunker or secret escape routes. So he's officially classified as missing but it does look like he was killed in the blast.//  
  
That was pretty conclusive, but she still didn't believe it. With the 'memories' she had, she recalled that Sloane had managed to masterfully run a covert organization under the guise that it was a CIA division. He had managed to dupe the entire Alliance into believing that he had killed Emily. And then he had turned around and used that to extort 100 million dollars from Alliance to bankroll his own agenda.  
  
Someone like Sloane couldn't have been killed so simply. . .so easily. She also 'remembered' how he had masterminded the Alliance's downfall in the first place. While that might not be the case with the Alliance's takedown 'here,' there's no guarantee that Sloane didn't have a hand in it. And if he did, that would mean he made it out alive somehow.  
  
The coffee finally finished and she reached for a mug and poured herself a steaming cup. She took her coffee into the living room and settled on the couch. She sipped the hot, bitter liquid unconsciously, as she tried to figure out what was what.  
  
She didn't have amnesia. Not the standard, run-of-the-mill amnesia, at least.  
  
She had fought Francie on May 4, 2003. She had lost consciousness and then had woken up in Hong Kong on May 5, 2003. She remembered seeing the date on one of the many neon signs in downtown Hong Kong before she had gone to the safe house.  
  
So to her, there was no time loss.  
  
Yet, Vaughn had told her that she hadn't been seen or heard from since their meeting on the Santa Monica pier, which was in October or November of 2001. That would be almost 2 years ago. So technically, she had lost two years of her memory.  
  
[But I remember those 2 years! I didn't 'lose' them. Did I?]  
  
She shook her head again. The only thing she could come up with is that she had been kidnapped and had been intensely conditioned psychologically. And whoever had done the conditioning had created an elaborate memory bank for her to make her think that she. . .what?  
  
Once again, her theory crashed. If she had been intensely conditioned, what was the point of giving her two years of 'false' memories? Everyone else would simply think that she was crazy. The CIA would never clear her for active duty again, and she wouldn't be able to do whatever it was she had been conditioned to do.  
  
Also, individuals who had been psychologically conditioned usually had memories that were in sync with society since confusion tended to unravel their conditioning. And they then became delusional and irrational. They usually ended up in asylums or institutions and would be unable to carry out their 'missions.'  
  
She drained the last of her coffee. She rose and went into the kitchen to rinse out the cup. She doubted she had been psych-con. It was simply too messy in her case. Implanted memories tended to work only in small doses. Like a happy childhood memory to stimulate certain feelings for the targeted mark. An extensive, complicated implanted memory like hers, where some things were real and others weren't, would simply collapse very quickly. That's assuming it was possible to implant something that large into a person's memory to begin with.  
  
[No. My memories are real. Somehow, I just know it.]  
  
Just then, she heard the front door open. "Sydney?"  
  
She sighed. Even if she was sure that the memories she held were real, that still didn't change the fact that no one else knew it. She walked back into the living room to find him standing by the couch, looking grim. He had changed but was still dressed casually.  
  
"Hi," she said, leaning against the wall.  
  
"Hey," he said. He looked as if he had gotten as much sleep as she did. "How are you?"  
  
She shrugged. "O.K., I guess."  
  
An awkward silence descended as each tried to find some place to focus so that they wouldn't have to make eye contact. After a few seconds, Vaughn cleared his throat. "Um, you need to uh, go into CIA Operations Center."  
  
"Now?"  
  
He nodded. "They need to run some tests on you. It's-"  
  
"Standard operating procedure," she finished quietly. "I know."  
  
"So, whenever you're ready."  
  
She glanced at him. "Wait, you're taking me?"  
  
He looked at her for a beat. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"I-I just. . .I thought the CIA would've assigned me an agent by now."  
  
"They did." He paused and looked down. [Uh-oh.] "Me." 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N - Well, I guess my little 'bribery' worked b/c the feedback was great. So true to my word, here is the latest update - the longest update yet! The usual disclaimers - I own nothing! Thanks to all those who have stuck with this story and have provided such encouraging reviews. I'm so glad that you're enjoying this story despite its rather confusing nature but like I said, each chapter will peel back a layer and the picture will become clearer and clearer. . .I hope! LOL As always, feedback appreciated. See how it helped to get another update posted so quickly? ;-]  
  
[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts  
  
// // denotes recalled conversations  
  
**********CIA Safehouse, May 8, 2003, Morning**********  
  
She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity as she processed what he had just said. "You're handling my case?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"But you're NSA."  
  
A quick swipe of his nose. "I, uh, I put in a special request to be temporarily reassigned to the CIA so that I could handle your case. The request was cleared this morning."  
  
"W-what? Why would. . .I mean I don't understand."  
  
He sighed softly. "We just thought that since I was originally your handler, it would make things easier if I came back on in that capacity during the, uh, transition."  
  
"Who's 'we'?"  
  
"The heads of the Joint Task Force."  
  
[So there *was* a joint task force. And it was still active. That's one more true, real thing I'm remembering.]  
  
"So you're back in the CIA?"  
  
"Not really, I'm sort of on loan from the NSA."  
  
She supposed that Vaughn's news should have made her. . .happy, or at least relieved in some way. Yet, she was angry. She didn't specifically know why. Perhaps it was the confusion and her inability to think through it. Or perhaps it was having her life 'dealt' with by bureaucrats who assigned her to people, places or whatever based on what they saw as 'best.' She hated it. Always did. She hated it even more now when she was already feeling out of control.  
  
"Syd?" Vaughn prompted. "We should go."  
  
"I wouldn't have a choice would I?" She didn't bother masking the irritation in her voice.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Sydney."  
  
[OK. He asked for it.] "I just. . .I'm sick of other people making decisions for me. I'm sick of you making decisions for me. I'm sick of your superiors making decisions for me. It's my life. It's me that has to go through all of this and I think I should get a say in things."  
  
"Syd, you've been gone for 2 years," he said calmly, which only seemed to fuel her ire. "You can't just expect to get your old status back."  
  
"I know where I've been and what's happened to me! I'm not asking for my status to be reinstated! I'd just. . .I want some say in what happens to me. It's like the last two years I've been trying to get control of my life but things are always happening to make that impossible."  
  
"The last two years?" Vaughn was looking at her intently. "Does that mean you remember what happened?"  
  
She shook her head. "No. I'm just saying. . .it's my life, OK? And I feel like I have no control over it already so it just irritates me when you come in here telling me that decisions affecting me have been made. . .without my knowledge and without any input from me."  
  
"So what are you saying?" She could see he was starting to get a little annoyed with her. If she weren't so angry, she would understand. After all, she had launched into this attack out of nowhere. "You don't want me to be in charge of your case?"  
  
[Yes! No. I don't know!] She shook her head, clearing the jumbled thoughts. "I'm saying I'd like to be consulted."  
  
"Sometimes that's not possible."  
  
"See!" She looked at him accusingly. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. That attitude. Like you know better than me what best for *my* life. It's. . .it's patronizing."  
  
"I'm not patronizing you!"  
  
"Yes, you are!"  
  
"I'm just trying to do my job!" he cried. His voice was laced with frustration. "You were a high level operative who went missing and now you seemingly have no memory of what happened to you. There are protocols that have to be followed. For your safety and ours."  
  
She sighed. [He just had to bring up protocols.] "Don't talk to me about protocols okay? Protocol has done nothing but make my life difficult. It's made your life difficult! You didn't always follow protocol you know! If you had, we'd never have gotten together!"  
  
"What! What are you talking about?"  
  
[Damn it!] Her anger had gotten a little out of hand. She had momentarily forgotten that *this* Vaughn was not the one she remembered. Just then, in what had to be a cruel twist of irony, the light caught on his wedding band when he swiped his nose in agitation. [No, this isn't the Vaughn I remembered at all.] She shook her head as her anger dissipated. "You know what? You're right. We should go."  
  
She moved to walk past him but he reached out and lightly grabbed her arm. His action caused her to stop dead in her tracks, which bought her uncomfortably close to him. She was so close that she could feel his breath on her face and see how intensely green his eyes had turned. She knew that she should back away and put some distance between them, and yet, she couldn't. It was as if an invisible force held her in place.  
  
"Syd," he said softly and she found herself involuntarily looking at his full lips. She swallowed as a pang of desire hit her.  
  
She willed herself to move, and felt both relieved and disappointed when her body obeyed. She slowly stepped away from him and headed towards the door, mercilessly squelching any feelings of desire or need for him. "We need to go."  
  
**********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Testing Unit***********  
  
Once again, she felt that sensation of déjà vu. Only this time, it bought up memories and feelings that she would've rather forgotten.  
  
She had expected the psychological testing. But she hadn't expected all the other tests. In fact, the testing that she was undergoing was eerily like the 'Rambaldi prophecy' testing that she had been forced to endure. Intelligence tests, psychological tests, lie detector tests, and intrusive, painful medical exams.  
  
Tired, overwhelmed and also scared, given that the last time she underwent such tests she had ended up in federal custody, she didn't bother fighting it, although she could tell that Vaughn was worried that she would put up a fight. He hovered. Either in the observations rooms or in the testing units themselves. How he managed this she didn't know, but his presence was barely acknowledged by the technicians as they went about their duties. . .efficiently and silently.  
  
The intelligence tests she handled well she thought. The medical exams were painful and irritated her, but she handled them well too. What she didn't know how to handle were the psychological exams. She didn't know if she should adopt a role and go with it, or to tell the whole truth. Instead, she decided on a middle ground. She told the truth whenever possible and held back all details about her memories of the last two years. As a result, she had no idea what the result would be.  
  
[Either they'll find that I'm crazy and honest or that I'm sane but lying. Or both. Or neither of the above.]  
  
Now, several painful and grueling hours later, she was in a nondescript observation room in the medical lab. She was sitting on a hospital bed, staring at nothing, and too tired to think. She heard the soft beeping of the access code being punched in and then the "zzzttt" as the doors slid open. She turned to find Vaughn coming in, holding a plate and a soft drink can.  
  
"Hey," he said softly. "I bought you something to eat."  
  
"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered items and setting them aside. "Am I done?"  
  
"For the time being."  
  
"Not the answer I was hoping for," she said softly.  
  
"I'm sorry." He stood by the bed awkwardly. "We're trying to get you through this as quickly and as painlessly as possible."  
  
She smiled at him wryly. "You're doing a good job of it."  
  
He returned her smile. "Sorry." Then turning serious, he looked at her with genuine concern. "We are trying."  
  
She nodded. "I know. It's not your fault. It's just. . .protocol."  
  
"Look, Sydney," he said with a soft sigh. "About earlier, I-"  
  
"It's OK," she cut in. "I was. . .I was just taking my frustrations out on you. Can we just forget about it?"  
  
He looked down and she could see him struggling with something. Finally, he looked back at her and said softly,  
  
"Would you rather I wasn't on this case?"  
  
[Oh, God.]  
  
She honestly didn't know how to answer that question. Part of her didn't want to be around him. It was simply too painful. While he may not remember her as anything more than a colleague and his 'asset,' she remembered him as so much more. And her memories were real to her. She *felt* them. And it hurt even more knowing that *he* didn't remember anything. It was also strange and disconcerting. To be around him and yet know that she was dealing with someone almost entirely unfamiliar to her. A familiar stranger that she had deep and strong feelings for. And who was married.  
  
[Not exactly the best situation in which to think clearly.]  
  
But on the other hand, she instinctively knew that she could trust him. She knew he had her best interests at heart and that he would protect her whenever and however he could. And she suspected that she would need that in the days ahead. Everything and everyone was unfamiliar to her. She had no way of knowing who was an ally and who wasn't. Except for Vaughn. She just instinctively knew that he was on her side. So if anyone, he was the best person to handle her case.  
  
Once again unable to articulate her feelings fully, she went with the near-truth answer. "I'm not really in the best position to decide that."  
  
"So you have no opinions or feelings on it?"  
  
She shrugged. "It's. . .fine."  
  
He looked at her doubtfully for several seconds, before he nodded. She guessed that he didn't want to push her on the issue. And for that she was grateful. "Um. . .do you think you can handle some debriefing?"  
  
She searched his face and knew instantly what he meant. "My mother?"  
  
A glance at the floor before he nodded. "She, uh, she's gonna handle your debrief personally. If that's OK with you."  
  
"You mean I have a say in this?"  
  
"Your mother was very clear about it. She'd only debrief you if you were comfortable with it."  
  
She considered this. Was this some sort of manipulation on her mother's part? A way to appear sympathetic and understanding? A way to get her to let her guard down? "I guess I'm cleared then? I mean if you're gonna let me meet with the Acting Director?"  
  
"Uh, actually, your mother classified you as a special case. She wants to meet with you even though you haven't officially been cleared yet."  
  
"And that means what?"  
  
"You'll have to meet with her in our security unit."  
  
*********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Security Unit***********  
  
[Talk about irony!]  
  
She was in what she will always consider as 'Her cell.' The reinforced glass encased cell in the lower part of the Joint Task Force Operations Center, with its trio of automatic bars and the armed guards at the entrance. Its gaggle of surveillance cameras. The same cell she had gone to on several occasions to see her mother, usually for information on her latest SD-6 mission.  
  
It was the same cell in which she now found herself. Only instead of being on the outside of the glass 'cage,' she was now on the inside. And she had to admit, the view from this perspective wasn't nearly as nice as the view from the other side. Not to mention that from the other side, she had never felt the sense of claustrophobia that she was feeling now.  
  
She looked around the cell again. It really was ironic that she was in this cell. . .and waiting to meet her mother of all people.  
  
Just then, she heard the whir of the bars being moved, followed by loud clangs as the bars each retracted and then moved back into place. She saw her mother's shadow before she saw her mother but judging from the shadow's confident, decisive and elegant stride, she knew immediately who it was. That cat-like grace and controlled power was unmistakable.  
  
And then, there she was. Her mother. She looked just as Sydney remembered her. And yet, like everyone else, seemed unfamiliar.  
  
"Hello, Sydney." Her mother said with a hint of a smile.  
  
[Talk about déjà vu.]  
  
If her mother hadn't been wearing a dark blue, 'power suit,' with her hair pulled back in an elegant but professional knot, and a CIA identification badge clipped to the lower portion of her suit jacket, she'd have sworn she was back in Taipei. The delivery of the greeting, the tone of voice, even that small smile - it was all the same. And it had the same effect of sending chills down her spine.  
  
She swallowed the small lump that had formed in her throat and managed to say evenly,  
  
"Hello."  
  
"It's good to see you Sydney."  
  
Was that genuine relief she saw in her mother's eyes? She couldn't tell because her mother's face revealed nothing. It was nothing but an unreadable mask.  
  
"I wish I could say the same."  
  
A flash of. . .what. . .regret. . .guilt. . .in her mother's eyes. "I realize this must all be confusing for you. Especially my presence here. But I wanted to let you know that we're doing whatever we can to figure things out so that we can help you."  
  
She stared at her mother through the glass. She knew she wanted to say as little as possible, while trying to get as much information out of her mother as possible. But could she do that? Even if she didn't really know the woman standing in front of her now, she could tell that this woman possessed the same keen intellect and cunning as the Irina Derevko she knew.  
  
She looked at the ID badge hanging from her mother's jacket. It read 'Laura Bristow.' "Is that really your name?"  
  
Her mother followed her gaze. "Yes."  
  
"And Irina Derevko?"  
  
"An alias." Her mother seemed unfazed by her questions. She maintained her enigmatic expression and responded to each question with quiet authority and confidence.  
  
"So you were just pretending to be a Russian spy?"  
  
"No," her mother said, her eyes locking on hers. "I was a Russian spy, but I was a CIA agent first."  
  
"You were a double agent."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"What is that? A family tradition or something?" She made her voice extra sarcastic, hoping to get a rise out of her mother. Of course she failed.  
  
"No. You were never meant to be a double agent. You were never meant to be an agent at all."  
  
"But I am."  
  
"Your father and I have always regretted, we always will regret, not being able to prevent that."  
  
Her mother mentioning her father with such familiarity. As if they were a team and shared decisions together angered her. A lot.  
  
"Don't you dare speak for my father," she said coldly.  
  
Had her mother actually flinched? It had happened so fast, and she had recovered so quickly, that Sydney doubted she saw it at all. "Sydney, there is so much you don't understand and so much I can't tell you. But you have to believe me that your father and I, we've only wanted to protect you and to do what's best for you."  
  
"I said stop it!" she cried. "Stop lying! Stop talking about Jack Bristow like you cared about him. Like you didn't betray him. Or me! You're. . .you're nothing but a terrorist!"  
  
This time there was no mistaking the flash of pain in her mother's eyes. She tried again to read her mother's face, but the mask was firmly in place. She drew in a quick breath. This woman was even more dangerous than the Irina Derevko she knew. This woman apparently could fake the appropriate emotional responses. Something that Irina Derevko could do but which she had been able to catch at times. With this woman, the emotions seemed genuine. But how could they be?  
  
"Sydney-"  
  
"You're a liar! You've been lying to me since I was born! And you're lying now."  
  
Her mother sighed. "You're right, Sydney. I have lied to you. Your father and I both. But we couldn't tell you when you were young. And when you got older, we lied to protect you." Her mother looked at her intently. "Lies are necessary sometimes."  
  
"Stop it! Stop trying to justify your actions. Lying to protect someone is-"  
  
She stopped suddenly. She was just as guilty of lying as her mother. She had lied to Danny. To Will. To Francie. To everyone at SD-6. And why? Because she had wanted to protect them. So what right did she have to judge her mother on that count?  
  
She shook her head, suddenly weary. The day had been long, painful and hard - in more ways than one. She knew now that she should have gone with her instincts and refused the meeting with her mother. But her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she had thought that she could handle her mother. But this veiled conversation clearly showed her that she was at a distinct disadvantage. And like any well-trained spy, she knew the best option now was to get out. "I don't want. . .you said it was my choice whether I would see you or not and I. . don't."  
  
"I'm sorry Sydney. I should have realized it was too soon for us to meet. Perhaps in a few days time."  
  
"It won't change anything," she said softly.  
  
Her mother smiled. "Perhaps." She looked at Sydney intently again before she turned. But then, before calling out to the guard, she turned back and said softly,  
  
"Sydney, lies give hope. Love endures worse."  
  
***********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Medical Observation Unit**********  
  
It had been hours since she had seen her mother. She had been moved back to the Testing Unit. Vaughn had told her that they were going to keep her in the medical unit overnight for observation. He also told her that she had only a few more medical tests to undergo.  
  
She had listened and had undergone all the procedures without really being aware of them, because her mind was firmly focused on her meeting with her mother.  
  
Her mother's parting words nagged at her. Something about how she had said them reminded her vividly of when Irina Derevko had said 'truth takes time' while holding Sydney at gunpoint. There was something more to the words and what they meant.  
  
Now, after hours of replaying the conversation and specifically her mother's parting words over and over in her mind, she had finally 'broken the code.'  
  
//Sydney, lies give hope. Love endures worse.//  
  
It was exactly like the code she had used to alert Vaughn when she had, against orders, gone to Russia, in an effort to save Neil Caplan. Taking the first letter of each word and rearranging them, she had managed to come up with:  
  
H.G. WELLS.  
  
But what that meant, she was still trying to figure out. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N - Sorry for the delay in the update. Holidays and other stuff interfered. Anyway, you know the drill. I own nothing. I have nothing. So it'd be pointless to sue. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. That can't be said enough! I particularly thank the faithful readers/reviewers. I never thought my little story would actually garner fans! The book mentioned in this chapter, "A Brief History of Time" is by the renowned and gifted physicist, Stephen Hawkings. The book itself is a fascinating read so I'd definitely recommend it. Be warned, I said it's a fascinating read, not a light and easy read. :-] I'm not actually quoting it but I use ideas and possibilities espoused within it and thought I should give credit where credit is due. Feedback feeds the muse, who inspires the author, which leads to quicker updates. ;-]  
  
[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts  
  
***********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, May 9, 2003, Morning**********  
  
It hadn't taken her long to understand the significance of 'H.G. Wells.' Even if she hadn't studied literature in college, she would have still figured it out. H.G. Wells was well known for his science fiction novel, "The Time Machine," which was essentially about time traveling.  
  
But after pondering that all night, she still wasn't sure what her mother intended for her to understand.  
  
[Was she telling me that time travel was involved? But how? I'm exactly in the same time I remembered, even though everyone else thinks I've 'lost' two years. So did everyone *else* time travel and I'm in some. . .what?]  
  
She shook her head. [Why is it that every time I think I've got another piece of the puzzle figured out, the puzzle just gets more complicated?]  
  
Before she could think of it any longer, there was the soft beeping of the access code, and then the doors to her medical observation unit slid open. She had expected to see Vaughn, but instead, a familiar face, with the same shy smile, greeted her.  
  
"Hi Sydney."  
  
"Marshall!"  
  
Marshall looked just as she remembered him. A little awkward, a little shy, and very endearing. He hadn't changed at all. But then again, neither had anyone else, in a physical sense at least. But she recognized the look of uncertainty and concern in his eyes that everyone seemed to regard her with these days. She went over to him and embraced him for several long minutes.  
  
"Uh. . .how are you?" he asked, when they finally broke apart.  
  
"I'm better now that you're here," she said with a big smile and was rewarded with a full Marshall J. Flinkman blush. "How are *you*? I mean it couldn't have been easy finding out about SD-6."  
  
Marshall shook his head. "No, no, it wasn't. I try not to think about it too much 'cause you know if I do, I tend to start sobbing which leads to hyperventilating and then I have to sit and breathe into a bag for a good 30 minutes which would interfere with my job and that wouldn't be good since I'm supposed to have the new computer filtering systems set up by next week and that's. . ." Marshall stopped abruptly. "It's good to see you, Sydney."  
  
She grinned. "It's really good to see you, Marshall."  
  
Marshall looked around the medlab uncomfortably. "Uh, it's. . .when you went missing, things were really bad at SD-6. Everyone there really missed you."  
  
"Even when you found out that I was a double agent?"  
  
"Oh, well that was definitely one of those 'Whoa!' moments, you know? But when your father explained things after we got debriefed by the CIA, it. . .it was kind of hard to not see his point of view."  
  
"My father debriefed you?"  
  
Marshall nodded. "I think he insisted on debriefing some people personally."  
  
She nodded and there was a long awkward pause as both just smiled uncomfortably at each other. Finally Marshall cleared his throat and indicated a small box that he was holding.  
  
"Uh, I'm supposed to. . .uh, prep you."  
  
"Prep me?" she asked, as she eyed the box warily. "For what?"  
  
Marshall went over to the cot and set the box down. "Didn't anyone tell you? I'd thought for sure Agent Vaughn would have. Or at least your mother, I mean Director Bristow, since she was the one who asked me to handle this."  
  
At the mention of her mother, Sydney's mind snapped into overdrive. "My mother asked you to do this personally/"  
  
Marshall nodded as he fidgeted with something inside the box. "She came up to me about an hour ago and asked if I could handle this myself. She said it would be easier for you to have a familiar face. Which I can understand since it can't be easy being cooped up in here. It's like a hospital here except without the friendly nurses or the jello. You know the kind they give you in those little plastic bowls that are really small like you used to have when you were in school and ate at the cafeteria."  
  
"What exactly are you supposed to do?"  
  
"Oh it's just a simple thing," said Marshall as he took out a small black box. He held it up for her to see. "I'm just supposed to hook you up with a tracker."  
  
"A tracker?"  
  
Marshall nodded. "The CIA wants to be able to keep track of you for the time being. I mean until you're cleared for formal duty again. We just don't, uh, want to lose you again."  
  
"Why would you need to monitor me if I'm here?"  
  
Marshall looked at her in surprise. "You didn't know? I-I mean. . .well of course if you didn't know about me and the monitoring device then you wouldn't know that you're going to be sent back to the safe house."  
  
"Do you know when?"  
  
"Today I think. Otherwise, your mother wouldn't have requested that I handle this immediately."  
  
Sydney's mind was racing. She was getting out? [Does that mean I passed the tests? No, of course not. If I did, then I wouldn't need Marshall's tracker. So if I didn't pass, why were they sending me to the less secure safe house?] And then her mind latched onto what Marshall had just said. . .'otherwise your mother wouldn't have requested that I handle this immediately.'  
  
She knew that there had to be something else going on. First the clue about H.G. Wells and now sending Marshall in to see her on some pretense of having him hook her up with a tracking device. Even if she didn't know what the current CIA structure was like, she'd venture to guess that Marshall didn't routinely handle something like this.  
  
[No, my mother sent him to see me for another reason.]  
  
"Uh, Syd? You ready?" Marshall looked at her expectantly.  
  
She still wasn't sure what was going on, but she decided to follow her instincts. "Uh, Marshall. . .can I ask you something?" He nodded. "I mean it's gonna sound kind of. . .strange."  
  
Marshall smiled. "I'm used to strange."  
  
She paused and drew in a deep breath. [Just do it. Just spit it out.] "Uh, Marshall, is, uh, is time traveling possible?"  
  
Marshall looked at her for a beat. "You mean like in reality?"  
  
She nodded. "Is it possible?"  
  
He considered her question for several minutes. "In theory, it is. I mean even Einstein would have to concede that it's possible based on his theory of relativity. It certainly doesn't eliminate the possibility in any conclusive way."  
  
"How is it possible? I mean, what exactly makes in possible in theory?"  
  
Marshall straightened, which she knew was a sign that he was going to launch into a tangent-filled explanation. It was a good thing for her that she enjoyed his tangents and they never distracted her from his primary message. "O.K. You know Einstein's whole 'E=mc squared' theory?" She nodded. "His theory of relativity is based on the principle that there is no absolute time. And that nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. But the flip side of that is that if you can travel faster than the speed of light, you could, in theory, travel back in time. Well, your time of course since there's no fixed, absolute time."  
  
She shook her head. There were no tangents in that explanation and yet, even with her high level of intelligence, she still didn't grasp it. "OK, let's take it a little slower," she said with a smile. "Why exactly can't things travel faster than the speed of light?"  
  
"OK, see, Einstein's formula, 'E=mcsquared'? That means that an energy that an object has due to its motion will ultimately add to its mass. So see if the motion of an object increases so that it approaches the speed of light, its mass will get bigger and bigger, which requires more and more energy in order to keep it at that high speed. And so far, nothing has been able to produce that kind of energy or power so nothing can move faster than the speed of light."  
  
[Power? Like Rambaldi-type power?] "Uh, Marshall, let's just say that such an energy exists and you can travel at the speed of light? Then what? You can go back in time?"  
  
Marshall nodded before he looked at her curiously. "Do you think you traveled back in time?"  
  
She forced herself to laugh. "No, of course not. I'm just. . .you know.. .considering. I mean this whole experience is so weird that something as 'out there' as time travel seems reasonable sometimes."  
  
"Time travel's not all that 'out there,'" said Marshall. "I mean if we could generate the kind of energy we do by splitting an atom, it's not impossible to imagine that someday we might find a way to generate enough power to get an object to move faster than the speed of light. Or that we could open up a wormhole."  
  
"Wormhole?"  
  
"It's uh. . .a warp of the space-time continuum." At her puzzled expression, he elaborated. "Kind of like a shortcut between two places. Did you ever see that show? 'Sliders'? They traveled to different dimensions by sliding through wormholes basically. It was a pretty cool show for a while and Kari Wuhrer? She was like. . .'Wow!'"  
  
Sydney smiled. "Uh, I'm not sure I fully understand but let's say that time travel is possible, doesn't it present problems? I mean, wouldn't you age in reverse when you travel back in time? Or at least run into your younger selves?"  
  
"Ah, see, the twin paradox takes care of that."  
  
"Twin paradox?"  
  
Marshall nodded. "'Cause see, the theory of relativity says there's no such thing as absolute time, right? So that would mean different people would observe different times. It's like everyone has their own perception of time. So see the twin paradox says that if one twin is left here on Earth and then another goes off in this space ship and travels near the speed of light and you know, goes out and explores space a bit, when that twin comes back, he would be younger than the twin on Earth. He might even be the exact same age he was when he left if the entire time he was in a sleep state like they put the Robinson family in." He took in her perplexed expression. "You know the Robinson family? From 'Lost in Space'? With the robot and 'Danger, Will Robinson. Danger!" Marshall had changed his voice to a robot-like drone at the last part.  
  
She shook her head apologetically. "Sorry, I must have missed that."  
  
Oh, it's okay," said Marshall with a smile. "It wasn't as good as the series. Though the special effects were much better in the movie than the series, especially with that mask that comes down over their faces and. . .anyway, they go into hyper-sleep in the movie while they're traveling hundreds of light years away so when they wake up, they're the exact same age they were when they left, even though, technically hundreds of years had passed."  
  
"So what you're saying is that if someone travels back through time, they'd be the same age they were before they did the. . .time traveling?"  
  
"They should be. In most of the movies they are. I mean like in 'Back to the Future' Michael J. Fox is the exact same age he was in 1985 even though he traveled back to when he wasn't even born yet. Which is just as well since watching him as an egg in his mother's body wouldn't be as interesting. Unless they got Bruce Willis to be the egg's voice like they did in 'Look Who's Talking." The first one. The second one with Roseanne was. . .not so good."  
  
She was really trying to absorb all of this but it was proving difficult. Yet she forced herself to press on. "O.K. So let's say that time travel is possible. I mean why haven't we seen any future visitors coming to warn us of things? I mean wouldn't someone from the future have thought to warn somebody of say Hitler? Or the World Wars? The dangers of the nuclear age?"  
  
Marshall was really into this topic because he was doing that little bounce that he usually did when he was explaining his latest gadget. "O.K. See there's some theories about that. One is the 'fixed time' theory that says that the past is fixed and can't be changed so if you go back in time, you're stuck with the way things are. That was kind of like what happened in that Kathleen Turner movie? You know how she hated being married to Nicolas Cage so she went back to high school with the intention of dumping him but she ended up staying married to him after all?"  
  
"But what if things had changed? Like everything?"  
  
"Well, the other theory is called the 'alternate histories hypothesis' which basically says that when you travel back in time you enter alternate histories, different than the fixed or recorded histories."  
  
"And you can change things?"  
  
"You already did just by traveling back through time."  
  
"But can you change it back? I mean to the way it was before you traveled back into time?"  
  
"In theory, you could. I mean you couldn't get it back perfectly the way it was originally. Like in 'Back to the Future' you know how Michael J. Fox goes back in time to the 60's and then when he goes back to 1985, things had changed. His father was successful and his father's nemesis, Biff, was this mechanic who had to wax and take care of all the McFly's cool cars? I mean things were kind of back to normal. They still lived in the same house and Marty. . .that's Michael J. Fox's character. . .he still had the same brother and sister and the same girlfriend but things were better for him."  
  
A spark of hope flared within her. For the first time since she had awoken in Hong Kong, she felt like there was a way to 'fix' things. Of course the way that she was envisioning was theoretically possible but realistically impossible. But at least there was some hope. "O.K. But let's say you end up in the same time that you remember but everything's different. I mean, is time traveling involved then?"  
  
"Could be," said Marshall considering. "Or you could be in an alternate dimension, which really is a form of time traveling. What exactly do you mean 'the same time'?"  
  
She considered his question and the best way to answer it, without giving anything away. [I don't need to have Marshall thinking that I've lost my mind.] "Uh. . .well, let's say that you're in the present, like now, and then you go to sleep and when you wake up, everything's different. Like the people you knew aren't the same. Or how you remember things."  
  
"That kind of sounds like 'Back to the Future 2'" Marshall smiled sheepishly at her look. "I was a big fan of Christopher Lloyd." A pause as he took in her lack of understanding. "He played 'Doc' who was like this genius. See, Doc built a time machine out of a Delorean and he was always figuring things out. I always wanted to be that guy. Plus he got the girl and a really cool flying train at the end of the trilogy."  
  
She smiled. "You are the guy who always figures things out Marshall."  
  
Marshall blushed. "Oh. . .thanks. Uh. . .anyway, see in the second movie, Biff steals this almanac from the future and then takes the Delorean and goes back in time to give it to his younger self so that his younger self can use it to win bets on sporting events and get rich. So then when Marty goes back to his time, 1985, everything was different since Biff wasn't the mechanic anymore but this filthy rich businessman and the town where Marty lived was under Biff's thumb and Marty's mother was married to Biff and she had gotten her. . .well you know. . ' Marshall stopped and awkwardly indicated his chest. "She got them. . .uh, fixed. And also Biff had murdered Marty's father. It was like a whole new world, but then Doc figured out that because Biff altered the past, they were living in an altered future."  
  
"And he changed that?" she asked. "I-I mean, Marty, I assume he went back to change things and then things went back to normal in 1985 again?"  
  
Marshall nodded. "Right. After they stole the almanac back from Biff in the 60's, when Marty went back to 1985, it was like he remembered it. At least the better version of his life in 1985."  
  
Again that spark of hope flared within her. "Uh, Marshall. . .is it possible to time travel without knowing that you're time traveling?"  
  
"Not unless you're unconscious," said Marshall with a grin. "I mean that would be the ultimate joyride, especially if you're going through a wormhole or in a craft that could go faster than the speed of light. It'd be pretty hard to not know that."  
  
"B-but if you were unconscious, it's possible? And then you'd wake up in a whole new world even though not much time had passed right?"  
  
"You'd be Jennifer!" Marshall exclaimed, which startled her a bit.  
  
"Who's Jennifer?"  
  
"Oh, she was Marty's girlfriend. And in the second movie, she faints when she sees herself in the future. So Marty and Doc take her back to 1985 and they put her on the porch swing in the front of her house, only that was the 1985 where Biff was in control of everything. I mean she doesn't wake up or anything until after Marty and Doc had fixed things so that it was back to the 'normal' 1985." Marshall did a funny air quote around the word normal here. "So anyway, if she had woken up in that altered 1985, it would be like she had time traveled and not known it." He stopped and considered something. "Well, technically she did time travel and not know it so yeah, I guess it is possible."  
  
She was surprised at how things were beginning to make sense, despite the fact that she didn't understand half of what Marshall was saying. Before she could probe him further, however, there was the familiar 'beeps' of the security code being punched in and then the doors slid open. She looked over to see Vaughn, in one of his suits, walking in and carrying a cup of coffee in one hand.  
  
"Hi." Vaughn offered her and Marshall a small smile.  
  
"Hi," she said.  
  
"Oh, Agent Vaughn. . .or actually it'd be Mr. Vaughn since you're not with the CIA anymore although I was told that you were back on a temporary basis so I guess you'd still be an agent or-"  
  
"Whichever you prefer," said Vaughn.  
  
Marshall nodded. "Right, well, I was just about to hook Sydney up to the tracker. It won't take long."  
  
Vaughn nodded. "Don't let me interrupt then."  
  
Sydney smiled at Marshall as he approached her holding a metallic looking syringe. "Uh. . .this might sting a little."  
  
She nodded. "Where?"  
  
"It's uh, gonna go inside the skin of your upper arm."  
  
"O.K.," she said, rolling up the sleeve of her T-shirt. Marshall hesitated slightly before he held the syringe to her arm and injected. As he had warned her, it had stung, but it wasn't much worse than the flu shots that she had received. "Is that all?"  
  
Marshall nodded as he returned the syringe to the box. "Yeah. Um, it's a nano processor. It's linked to one of our satellites and should give us your location at all times." At her look, he added, "Just for the time being. I was told it wasn't supposed to be permanent so I used the tracker that lies just below the epidermis so that when it's time to remove it they won't need to, you know, cut too deep."  
  
She smiled. "Thanks, Marshall."  
  
He nodded and looked awkwardly from Vaughn to Sydney. "Uh, well, okay. I guess I should get back then."  
  
"I'll see you soon," she said, giving him a small wave as he retreated out the medlab doors.  
  
After the doors slid close behind Marshall, she turned to Vaughn. "So, uh, I heard I was getting sprung from here."  
  
He nodded. "It's being cleared right now." He looked down at the coffee cup he was holding and held it out to her. "This is for you. I figured you'd need a decent cup of coffee today."  
  
"Thanks. And yeah, the coffee here leaves a lot to be desired." She took the proffered cup and sipped it gratefully. "So, uh, how much longer do I have to be here?"  
  
"We can leave right now if you want."  
  
"Really?"  
  
He smiled. "Well, we could leave the medlab but you're not quite cleared for leaving the Ops Center yet. I thought that uh, you might want to come to my office while we wait for your clearance to go through." He cleared his throat nervously. "I thought maybe you'd have enough of this place by now."  
  
She grinned. "You're right. I have."  
  
******CIA Joint Task Force Operations Center, Vaughn's Temporary Office******  
  
Vaughn's office was different. It wasn't the office she remembered, but then again, that had been in the old Ops Center. Still, his office was an actual office and not a desk in the middle of the large rotunda of the Ops Center. His 'new' office was a small room accessible by several small hallways and connecting doors that she didn't recognize. She suspected that he might have taken the circuitous route because he didn't want her to know exactly where his office was located within the Ops Center. Not that she blamed him for his 'cloak and dagger' routine, since she knew that without clearance, she shouldn't be shown more of the Ops Center than necessary, but she was still irked by it. Anything and everything that reminded her of the drastic change in circumstances that she had suffered bothered her.  
  
"Uh, here. . .have a seat," said Vaughn as he adjusted one of the two chairs facing a standard office desk for her.  
  
"Thanks," she mumbled as she slid into the chair.  
  
Vaughn smiled and walked around the desk to his chair. [Whoa. Déjà vu. Again.] "So, uh, did you sleep okay?"  
  
She shrugged. "Well enough."  
  
"I was uh, just told that you don't need to undergo any more tests."  
  
"Great," she said with a small smile.  
  
There was a long, awkward pause before Vaughn cleared his throat. "Uh, I guess it was good to see Marshall again?"  
  
She smiled. "Yeah it was. It really helped seeing him."  
  
"Helped? In what way?"  
  
She shifted uncomfortably. "Just, you know. . .seeing another familiar face and uh, Marshall's just. . .he's really great and I guess I needed that. The familiarity I mean."  
  
He nodded. "I can understand that."  
  
She looked around his office in an effort to avoid probing the subject further. "It's doesn't seem to suit you."  
  
"What?"  
  
She waved her hand around the office. "The office. Doesn't really feel like it's yours."  
  
"Oh, yeah. Well, it's just a loaner. I'm not really in the CIA so they put me into a little office out of the way. Harder for me to steal secrets from them and report it to the NSA that way."  
  
He had said the last part with a sardonic smile but she could also tell that there was some truth in it. "Still some turf battles going on huh?"  
  
"To put it mildly." He sighed. "Anyway, my office at the NSA actually looks lived in. Which means it's a controlled mess."  
  
She chuckled. She remembered that about Vaughn. He threw his clothes on the floor, like most men, but it was all in a nice little heap. "As long as you know where every messy pile of papers are right?"  
  
He grinned. "Exactly. But my wife doesn't appreciate it when it's piles of clothes."  
  
Her smile froze on her face at the mention of his wife. And instantly, her reaction bothered her. This was a different world. Literally. And Vaughn and his wife shouldn't bother her because he wasn't the same person she knew. Of course, what she knew rationally wasn't always how she responded emotionally. "Right."  
  
Vaughn looked at her uncomfortably for a beat. "Listen, Syd-"  
  
"So how long have you been married?" she asked in a voice that sounded strange even to her. It was this falsely cheerful voice. The kind of voice you used when someone had caught you crying and you wanted to pretend that you hadn't.  
  
"Uh. . .about a year and a half."  
  
She did the math quickly in her head. And then, she somehow just knew who Vaughn's wife was. "You married Alice?" She blurted it out before thinking and the instant she had said it, she wanted the words back because Vaughn's reaction was exactly as she knew it would be. Confusion, and then shock.  
  
"H-how did you know I married Alice? How do you know Alice?"  
  
She stared at him in what she knew had to be a good imitation of a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. "Uh. . .I. . ."  
  
Vaughn was still staring at her with that 'what-the-hell' expression. "I-I'm pretty sure I never mentioned Alice to you."  
  
"You did," she said quickly. "At the car wash remember?"  
  
She could literally see his mind flashing back to their meet at the car wash and she was praying with all her might that he wouldn't remember the details too clearly. But as she saw the look of remembrance pass over his face, quickly followed by a look of even deeper confusion, she knew that she wasn't getting out of this one easily. "Yeah, but I never mentioned Alice by name. I just said she was my girlfriend."  
  
[Damn it! Damn it!] She swallowed while frantically searching for a plausible answer. She was saved however by a rap on Vaughn's open office door. They both turned to find Kendall standing there, regarding them with a grim expression.  
  
Kendall looked exactly the same, and she suspected, he would act just as she remembered. It didn't take her long to be proven right. "Mr. Vaughn. I was told you were here. Along with Ms. Bristow."  
  
Displeasure was clearly evident in Kendall's voice but Vaughn either didn't notice or simply chose to ignore it. "And whoever told you was clearly well informed. What can I do for you?"  
  
Kendall pursed his lips and she had to stifle a smile. [The more things change. . .] "I just came to inform you that Ms. Bristow had been cleared to return to the safe house." He turned and looked at her for the first time. "I assume you've been fitted with the tracker."  
  
She nodded. "Yes."  
  
He gave a curt nod. "Fine." He turned back to Vaughn. "Then, anytime, Mr. Vaughn. And I don't have to remind you about the proper protocol for escorting a non-classified person through the Ops Center."  
  
Vaughn stood up. "No, you don't."  
  
Kendall cast one last look at them before he turned and walked out. Vaughn stared after him for a bit before turning back to her. "You don't like him do you?"  
  
He smiled wryly. "What makes you say that?"  
  
She smiled, grateful that Kendall's interruption had put his mind off her slip about Alice. Or at least she hoped. "I'm a trained spy remember? I'm supposed to pick up on those things."  
  
He chuckled and then came around the desk, indicating the door. "So, what do you say we get out of here?"  
  
************CIA Safe House, Late Evening***********  
  
She had been asleep. But since Hong Kong, she didn't sleep the way she normally did. Afraid to lose consciousness too fully, she somehow managed to sleep but not deeply. As if her conscious mind was always there, lurking just beneath the veil of drowsiness. So it hadn't been hard for her to sense that someone had entered the safe house. They had broken in because she hadn't heard the key in the front door. And they were creeping around, with the lights out.  
  
She laid perfectly still, keeping her breathing even to give the impression that she was asleep, while she listened carefully. Whoever was in the house was making their way to her room. Slowly and steadily.  
  
She heard them pause outside her door before they opened it and walked in. They took a second to close the door before they crept towards the bed. It took all of her training to remain perfectly still. And somehow, despite her racing heartbeat, she managed to keep her breathing slow and steady.  
  
She watched the person's shadow on the wall as it crept closer and closer to her. When they were in the perfect position, she moved quickly.  
  
Swinging her feet out from underneath the covers, she landed a blow square in their chest.  
  
"Oooohh!"  
  
The intruder keeled over but Sydney wasn't done. She brought her arm down on the intruder's back, hitting them hard in the back of the neck and sending them crashing to their knees. She was just about to deliver a blow from her knee to the intruder's face when a familiar voice called out to her.  
  
"Sydney! It's me!"  
  
She was so surprised that her defenses didn't have time to spring up. "Mom?!" 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N – I'm thinking this chapter might be cursed! It took FOREVER to post what with fanfiction.net's problems this weekend and then when I actually uploaded it, there were all these weird symbols all over the document thereby necessitating a lengthy revision. ANYWAY. Thanks to those who have read and reviewed as always. You're the main reason I'm writing this. If I know someone is reading it (and even enjoying it), I feel like I should keep going since I hate being left hanging and wouldn't want to leave others hanging either! Usual disclaimers apply. Keep that feedback coming. :-]

[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts. 

**********CIA Safe House, May 9th Late Evening*********

Sydney took a startled step back, staring at the figure kneeling by the bed. She fumbled in the dark for the light switch and finally found it. Just as she was about to switch it on, her mother called out to her.

"No!"

"What?"

"No lights." Her mother was now on her feet and adjusting her clothes with an air of casual indifference. It was as if Sydney's attack had been nothing more than a stranger bumping into her in a crowded place.

She stared at her mother. Her eyes were used to the dark by now and she could make out certain features of her mother's face. But she could decipher nothing. Even in the bright light of day her mother was a closed, unreadable book. Now, in the dim light of her room in the safe house, her mother's face was even more of a mask.

Her mother looked at her for several long minutes. Sydney had the uncomfortable feeling that her mother was sizing her up somehow, and it disconcerted her. But she forced herself to remain where she was, returning her mother's look with a leveled one of her own.

"You need to leave." Her mother's voice was calm, but firm. It left no room for argument. 

"What?"

"You need to leave here, Sydney. **Now.**"

"What's going on?"

Her mother didn't answer her right away but instead, crept to the window and peered out for a few seconds. She seemed satisfied by whatever it was she saw out there because she nodded. A short, curt nod before she turned back to Sydney. "Here. You'll need this."

Sydney looked down at her mother's outstretched hand. In it was a cell phone and a wad of bills. She stared at the objects for a beat before she looked back up at her mother. "What is going on?" she repeated.

"There's no time for me to explain," her mother said impatiently. "They're on their way."

"Who?"

"Counterintelligence."

That single word sent a chill down her back. She had dealt with counterintelligence before. Most recently was when they had suspected Vaughn of being disloyal. That had been an unpleasant experience to put it mildly. She would hazard to guess that whatever counterintelligence had in store for her would make Vaughn's experience seem like a day in the park.

"W-why?" she stammered, even though she already suspected the reason.

Her mother sighed impatiently. "There's no time for explanations. All you need to know is that you have to leave here. Now."

She could understand her mother's attitude. But years of distrust, doubt and hurt caused her to react emotionally. In other words, irrationally. "Then you make time. I'm not going anywhere until you explain." She looked down at the money and cell phone in her mother's hand. "For all I know, you could be setting me up for something."

She stared at her mother defiantly while her mother returned her look with a determined one of her own. For long minutes, neither woman said anything and the only sound in the room was the ragged, stressed breathing of the two of them as they tried to stare each other down. Finally, her mother sighed heavily and moved over to the bed. She sat down on the edge and tucked her hair behind her ear in an all-too-familiar gesture.

"Your test results showed. . .anomalies." Her mother's voice was soft and matter-of-fact. 

"Counterintelligence has been involved from the beginning. It's standard operating procedure when an agent suddenly turns up after having been declared MIA."

Her mother looked at her and sighed. "It was a terrible risk. I knew that. But I had little choice. Even given my new position within the CIA."

"What are you talking about?"

There was no response at first as her mother just stared at the window. Finally her mother turned towards her, and even in the darkness, she could see the intensity in her mother's eyes. "You don't belong here do you, Sydney?"

She knew exactly what her mother meant and it shocked her to her core. [Oh my God. She knows. She knows!] "Wh-. . . .I-I. . . ."

"Thirty years ago, your father and Arvin Sloane were partners in the CIA. They were one of the top agents at the Agency and were on some of the Agency's most classified and dangerous missions."

"And you?"

Her mother smiled slightly. "Believe it or not, I was inactive. I became pregnant with you shortly after marrying your father and-"

"Was that a part of some mission? Marrying Dad?"

"Of course not!" Her mother's denial was so vehement and strong that she couldn't help but believe it. "Your father and I met at 'the Farm.' Just like any couple, we fell in love and married."

She couldn't stop from scoffing incredulously. "I don't believe that. You were probably-"

"Sydney!" her mother chided her firmly. "Nothing here is as you remember it. Including me. I don't know what your memories of me are like but I assure you, those memories are not who I am. . .*now.*"

"Then what? Are you saying I've time traveled? Is that why you gave me that clue about H.G Wells and then sent Marshall to implant me?"

A weary nod. "That was another risk. But one I had to take. I knew from our brief meeting that anything I had to say to you would be met with doubt and distrust. So I had hoped that a familiar face, one that you trusted, would enable you to receive the message better."

"Time traveling? That's a little bit of a stretch don't you think?"

"Thirty years ago, I would have said the same thing. I would have reacted exactly as you are reacting now."

"What happened thirty years ago?" she asked slowly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"Your father and Arvin Sloane were sent to Nepal on a routine recovery mission. But that mission changed all of our lives forever." She sighed. "While there, Arvin met a man named Conrad who told him of an ancient prophecy and about a 15th Century inventor and papal advisor by the name of Milo Rambaldi."

"Rambaldi?" she half said, half gasped the word.

"I see you're familiar with the name." Sydney nodded. "Your father thought it was a lot of nonsense at first but Arvin was obsessed, almost from the beginning. He wanted the CIA to devote more time and resources in dealing with the prophecy and Rambaldi but the CIA thought it was a waste of its time. Arvin clashed with superiors and Agency heads frequently over the matter until he finally quit. . .joining the Alliance and eventually becoming the SD-6 director."

"Because of Rambaldi?"

"Yes. It seemed that the Alliance had a great deal of interest in the Rambaldi artifacts. Only in the monetary sense however. They had no idea about the prophecy and the true value of the artifacts that they were trying to acquire."

"And you and Dad?"

"After Arvin returned from the Nepal mission, he was a changed man. Your father saw it, and so did I. At first, we didn't take it seriously but when Arvin started breaching protocols and security in his effort to track down anything and everything he could find on Rambaldi, your father became concerned. When he investigated Rambaldi further, his concern grew into alarm."

"Why?"

"Because what Rambaldi prophesized came true with astounding accuracy. Particularly one terrifying prophecy that hit a little too close to home."

Her mother was staring at her intently as she said the last part and Sydney felt another chill. "M-me?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "No. I'm not the one in the prophecy."

"Yes, you are," her mother said sadly.

"No! I disproved that prophecy. Even if that doesn't mean anything now, it shows that the prophecy can be disproved so I'm not the one in that prophecy!"

"Disproved it? How?"

"I-I went to Mount Sebacio. In the prophecy it said the woman had never seen Mount Sebacio and I have."

"The painting?"

"W-what?"

"You've seen the Rambaldi painting of Mount Sebacio?"

A feeling of dread was settling in her stomach. "No, the actual mountain."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "No. Sydney, you haven't disproved anything. The prophecy, like any prophecy, cannot be taken literally. Their interpretation is an educated guess at best."

"Then it can be an educated guess that I'm not the one in the prophecy. And how do you know it wasn't the actual Mount Sebacio he was talking about?"

"You're right," her mother said softly. "I don't. And neither do you. But we have uncovered evidence that Rambaldi painted Mount Sebacio with a vividly colorful sky behind it. It was discovered in the 18th Century inside one of his artifacts." Her mother looked at her. "But seeing the painting would fit in more closely with the phrase 'never having seen the beauty of **my** sky behind Mount Sebacio' wouldn't it?"

She hated to admit it but her mother's interpretation did fit. Perhaps even better than her own. But she refused to accept it. She couldn't. [How can I accept being the one that 'renders the greatest power into utter desolation'?] "T-then I can see the painting. . .it's still possible to disprove!"

"The painting was destroyed Sydney. It was lost in a fire."

She shook her head. "I-I can't. . .it's not. . ."

"Sydney!" Her mother's voice had taken on a hard edge. "Whatever you might have believed about the prophecy, it doesn't change the fact that you **are** who Rambaldi spoke of. The 'unseen marks' were very precise biological marks, mainly your DNA. The tests you took confirmed that. That's why counterintelligence wants to bring you in."

[Some things never change.] She was genuinely scared now. The last time she was 'brought in' by the feds, she would have never gotten out if not for Vaughn and her father. Now that everything was different, she didn't think she'd stand much of a chance in escaping once in custody again. "B-but I haven't. . .I have nothing to do with what some guy said in the 15th Century!"

"I understand Sydney." Her mother stood up and walked over to the window where she peered out of the blinds again. "We're running out of time. You need to leave."

"But there's still-"

"I can't explain everything now," her mother said, once again thrusting the money and cell phone at her. 

"Then just explain how you know about me," she said quickly. "About how you know I don't quite. . .belong."

There was an impatient sigh from where her mother stood before she answered. "As I said, about 30 years ago, Arvin went rogue. When your father and I looked into Rambaldi, we discovered his prophecy and. . .works. Just a few, but enough to make us. . .worried. Your father came up with the plan to join Arvin in the Alliance as a double for the CIA. While he went into SD-6, the CIA discovered that the KGB had acquired quite a few Rambaldi artifacts and were in fact working with the Alliance on that front."

"No," Sydney shook her head. "SD-6 has always worked against the KGB. Against K-Directorate."

"SD-6 has, that's true. But SD-6 is but one appendage of the Alliance. And the Alliance is primarily a mercenary group. It will work with anyone if it furthers their aim of acquiring wealth and power. In any event, this alarmed the CIA. It was then that I offered to go into the KGB, also as a double so that I could handle the Rambaldi case on that front."

"Why you?"

"My Russian heritage. . .and I had some ties within the KGB."

"And Dad knew about this?"

Her mother nodded. "Yes. He was against it at first, but he realized that if what we knew about Rambaldi was true, then it was worth it." There was a long pause and Sydney could feel her mother staring at her. When she spoke again, her voice was heavy with emotion. "You were still so young, Sydney. I. . .didn't want to leave you but. . ." Her mother's voice broke and there was a heavy intake of breath. A few seconds later, her mother's voice was once again calm and matter-of-fact. "It took years to decipher Rambaldi's writings and to understand his many artifacts. We thought we were making a breakthrough when something happened that alarmed both your father and I greatly. To the extent that we both seriously considered abandoning our covers."

"What?"

"Arvin recruited you into SD-6."

Even now, that betrayal by Sloane and all that it led to angered her still. "Then why didn't you and Dad say something to me sooner? So that I'd know?"

"We couldn't," her mother sounded genuinely regretful. "Part of your father's cover at SD-6 was to maintain his friendship with Arvin and that included socializing with the Sloanes. If we had told you, would you have been able to have dinner with them as if nothing had happened?"

She wanted to say 'yes' but it was a lie. If she had been warned about Sloane in advance, she'd have nothing but contempt for him thereafter. Even after being trained by SD-6 and the CIA to lie and deceive, she could barely conceal her loathing of him. How would she have hidden her real feelings with no training at all? 

"At first, your father thought that Arvin recruited you as a way to ensure his loyalty," her mother continued. "But when your father uncovered the prophecy, and your role in it, he realized Arvin's interest in you went beyond that of a father figure, and beyond that of someone who needed a bargaining chip."

"We were terrified Sydney. Terrified the entire time you were unknowingly working for SD-6. Your father tried his best to protect you. Our terror grew exponentially when you were cleared for field duty and were sent on missions. Your father had Marcus Dixon assigned to you in hopes that it would provide you with some measure of protection but even his best efforts couldn't protect you. . .or your loved ones."

"Danny."

"Yes." Her mother peered outside again before she continued. "When you learned the truth and went to the CIA on your own accord, we thought that would be the beginning of the end. But then. . .you went missing in Sao Paulo."

"What happened after that?"

"Instead of panicking at your loss and the effect it would have on your father, Arvin instead became more. . .focused. He orchestrated the downfall of not only SD-6 but the entire Alliance as well. And then he. . .disappeared."

"Vaughn told me he's presumed dead."

Her mother gave a mirthless laugh. "Oh, Arvin is very much alive and well. In fact, he's with your father."

"W-what?"

Her mother nodded. "About a month ago, Arvin contacted your father and arranged a meet. Your father managed to get a message to me stating that he needed to go with Arvin in exchange for 'something precious' was his words. Soon after, you turned up."

Sydney's mind was reeling from everything her mother was telling her. "Dad. . .sacrificed himself for me?"

"Yes. When you were declared MIA two years ago, I began the process of extracting myself from the KGB. After the Alliance's downfall, I returned to the CIA and worked with your father on the Rambaldi project. We were convinced this held the answer to your disappearance and to Sloane's as well."

"We still don't fully understand it but from what we could piece together, all of the artifacts, 47 in all, are to be assembled into a device known as Il Dire. 'The Telling.' Il Dire then will allow its creator 'the greatest power'. . .just as it was stated in his prophecy. It was then that we knew of your value. . .and your connection to Arvin."

"I don't have a connection to Sloane!" she exclaimed angrily. Hearing these things sickened her. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of him. Everything awful that had happened in her life had been because of him and now she was finding out that they were **connected**?

"I'm sorry, Sydney. It's just. . ." Her mother shook her head. "What we have learned about Il Dire is that it allows the person. . .using it. . .to somehow change or alter past events to their liking. And of course, no one else is aware of this. . .alteration."

"But you and Dad are. And I am."

"You are because of your. . .role in the prophecy. How, we do not know. As for your father and myself, we only knew this because Arvin allowed us to see the. . .true reality."

"What do you mean?"

"It was your reappearance. At first, I had suspected that Arvin used Il Dire to alter the events of your disappearance. But when you returned seemingly with no memory, I had my doubts. And then I read Agent Vaughn's report. And that's when I knew something else was at work here."

"Vaughn's report?"

"He made mention of you recalling events that happened **after** your disappearance. And that's when I knew that Arvin had done more than to simply alter the events of your disappearance. He had altered your life as well."

"But what makes you think this. . .Il Dire is about time traveling?"

"It is, as with much of our work on Rambaldi, an educated guess."

"That. . .doesn't help me!" she blurted out angrily. "I need real answers. Not educated guesses!"

"I don't have real answers, Sydney," her mother said calmly. "Now, we've wasted enough time with explanations. You need to leave. I know you have no reason to trust me but I'm asking you to do so." This time her mother thrust the money and phone into her hand. "Do not use this phone except to receive calls. I've managed to have it altered so as to be untraceable so long as the calls come from a secure phone in my possession. And this should be enough money to get you out of LA for the time being."

"W-what am I supposed to do? Just hide?"

"For now, yes." 

Her mother peered outside once more. "They'll be changing shifts in a few minutes. I'll slip out then. I've disabled the locks on the window in the back so you can go out that way."

Her mother came over and stood directly in front of her. She simply gazed at Sydney for several long minutes before she reached out and touched her hair lovingly. Surprisingly, she didn't flinch or shy away from her mother's touch. "How I wish things were different for you. . .for us." Her mother gave her one last look before she turned and walked towards the door. "Be careful Sydney."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**********Santa Monica, May 10th, Morning**********

Technically, she was out of LA. She knew that her mother had something much further away in mind, but Sydney couldn't bare to just simply run and hide. Not when her life was on the line. When apparently millions of lives were on the line if Rambaldi's prophecy was true.

But she also knew she couldn't do this alone. She had no resources other than a 'incoming calls' only cell phone and a couple of thousand dollars in cash. She would have been able to survive on that with no problem if all she intended to do was to hide until her mother told her it was safe to come out. But she intended to do more than that.

Not only because it was her life at stake, but because despite the talk she had with her mother, she still didn't fully trust her. Years of hurt couldn't be undone with one night's explanation, no matter how illuminating that conversation had been.

So she knew what she wanted to do. And part of that was getting help somehow. Unfortunately for her, she didn't seem to have many people that she could trust these days. Except for one person. And she had spent hours debating it. Having just made her decision only seconds ago, she was now at a pay phone, punching in a set of numbers that she still hoped were in service.

She listened to the ringing on the other end and counted each one. One. . . .two. . . .three. . .fo- She felt both relief and panic at hearing his voice. 

"Hello?" She didn't say anything. . .her planned speech flying out of her mind completely. It had been one thing to rationalize her plea and his probable response in her head and quite another to be facing the real thing. "Hello?"

She took a deep breath. "Vaughn."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N – Sorry for the delay in updating this. I had some computer issues. :-] Anyway, this story, believe it or not, is gonna be wrapped up soon. I don't write epics (though it might read like it at times!). So expect more updates as September (and the Alias premiere) approaches! And even if you have reviewed before or if you have nothing more to say that "Nice Story", PLEASE review! Reviews keep my creative juices flowing! ;-]

[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts

**********Santa Monica Pier, May 10th, Late Afternoon**********

"Hi."

She could tell that she had startled him, despite his admirable recovery. He inclined his head slightly but didn't move from his position on the bench at all, and kept his gaze fixedly on the ocean.

She had wanted to be sure, so she had watched him. For close to 3 hours. While she instinctively trusted Vaughn, she couldn't completely abandon her spy-training and ingrained cautiousness. He might not have alerted the CIA to her whereabouts, but that didn't mean that they didn't have someone tailing him as a way of getting to her. 

So she had picked a spot that had enabled her to see the entire rendezvous spot and she had watched him arrive. He had been early, just a little ahead of their agreed-upon time. And he had been anxious. He had alternately sat on the bench and paced. His agitation grew with each passing minute that she had been late but she had steadfastly watched him, and the area, for hours past their meet time. Only when she had been assured that no one was tailing Vaughn and that there was no surveillance, had she finally appeared.

"Syd? I was-" He stopped abruptly as he turned and caught sight of her disguise. 

She had stopped in a drugstore and had bought a wig and some make-up, as well as a few accessories. A quick stop into a nearby 'alternative' clothing store had completed her disguise. She had opted for a jet black wig, cut into thick chunks so that its ends stood up. Her makeup was heavy with dark eye shadow and black kohl lining her eyes and bright, purple lipstick adorning her lips. She wore a ripped T-shirt with the name of a heavy metal band emblazoned across the front and a pair of ripped jean shorts. Worn sneakers and big, silvery jewelry on her wrists and ears completed her 'punk' outfit.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," she said just loud enough to be heard as she settled into the bench directly behind him. She continued to maintain a bored expression as she looked around the pier.

"I-It's. . .uh. .. are you okay?"

Vaughn had managed to recover enough to remember their cover and he directed his gaze out at the ocean again. He was wearing jeans, dark green T-shirt and a Kings baseball cap. The cap was worn backwards and gave him a boyish and relaxed appearance, which helped to mask his obvious agitation.

"I'm fine. Thanks for meeting me."

"Of course I'd. . ." He stopped and rubbed his hand across his face tiredly. "Why are you running Sydney?"

"I heard counterintelligence wanted to bring me in."

He sighed. "How'd you know?"

"That's not important. I. . .I just couldn't go in, Vaughn. I can't."

He sighed heavily. "Syd, it's only a matter of time before they find you." He looked around the pier quickly. "They might be here already."

"They're not," she said with quiet confidence. "And they're not gonna find me."

"You're probably being tracked now," he said, his forehead furrowing with concern. 

"I got rid of the tracker," she said as she casually lifted the sleeve of her T-shirt. She saw Vaughn visibly wince at the sight of the bandage on her upper arm. "It's O.K. Didn't hurt at all. Marshall didn't implant it too deeply."

"H-how. . ." He stopped and shook his head. "O.K. You've managed to hold them off. . .for a while. But you can't run forever, Syd."

"I know," she said, drawing in a deep breath. The salty, dry ocean air calmed her. "I wasn't planning on it."

"What ***are*** you planning?"

"I need to find Sloane."

There was a sharp intake of breath, followed by an agitated swipe of his nose. "Sloane's dead, Syd."

"*Presumed* dead."

"There's been no activity from him or any of his associates in close to a year. Both the CIA and NSA, not to mention our intelligence counterparts in other countries, have monitored the remnants of the Alliance to see if anyone would step into the void to attempt and create another organization, and no one has. Sloane would have been an obvious choice and there's been nothing, Syd. Not a thing."

"He could just be keeping a low profile. He knows you'd be watching."

"Even so, he has no way of re-creating the Alliance or even SD-6."

"He doesn't care about that," she said impatiently. "Rambaldi has always been Sloane's ultimate goal."

Her answer caught him off-guard. He turned quickly to look at her for a beat before looking back out at the ocean. "How do you know about Rambaldi?"

She sighed. [It's now or never.] "Because I. . .I think Sloane has constructed a Rambaldi device that has allowed him to either travel back into time or at least manipulate it somehow. And he took me along for the ride."

There was no response from Vaughn for so long that she risked turning to look at him. His profile didn't yield much but the tension in his jaw told her plenty. "Vaughn?" she prompted.

"Sydney. . .I. . ." he trailed off and sighed deeply. "Obviously you've been through a lot. And it's understandable that with this kind of trauma, you'd need someone to lash out at but-"

"That's ***not*** what I'm doing!" she cried. "Look, I ***know*** Sloane is alive, okay? And I know that he has a Rambaldi device that's capable of. . .something beyond our imagination. And he's used it which means he's likely to use it again."

"How do you ***know*** Sloane's alive?"

She paused. She didn't know whether to reveal her mother's role to Vaughn or not. The Vaughn she remembered hated her mother, despite his feelings for her and their blossoming relationship. Vaughn had always been polite and coolly civil to her mother, but she knew he didn't trust her at all. But ***this*** Vaughn? Did he feel the same way? She remembered that he had talked to her mother directly on the plane from Hong Kong to Los Angeles and there had been no hint of hostility or distrust. "I just. . .know. Like I know other things I shouldn't or wouldn't know."

Her stressing the last part caused him to turn and study her for several seconds. "You never did explain that."

"That's what I'm trying to do now."

He shook his head. "Time travel Syd? That's from the movies."

"I know," she said tiredly. "But look, I talked to Marshall and he said that it was possible, so long as you had a source of incredible power. Something that would allow you to either travel faster than light or to create a wormhole."

"Syd, those are just theories. . .there's never been any proof that it's possible to time travel."

She sighed in frustration. "How else do you explain that I know about things like your tattoo? Or Barnett being the CIA psychologist?"

"I-I don't know, but it's. . .it can't be time travel."

"Why not?" she said, getting angry. "Is that so much more unbelievable than a 15th Century inventor who prophesized my role in some doomsday scenario?"

"You. . .know about that prophecy?"

"I know a lot of things!" she cried, completely frustrated now. "Like your code name is Boy Scout because you were told to always be prepared by your CST instructor after you forgot your manual on the first day. And that you love eating at Trattoria di Nardi in Italy. Or that your father used to keep a journal that you teased him about. Or that you have an Aunt Trish who believes in aliens and crop circles. Or that you have season tickets to the Kings, even though you barely make any of the games because of your job. Or that you used to be a swimmer when you were young."

The only reason she stopped was because she had run out of breath. She glanced over at Vaughn who had an almost comical expression on his face. His mouth was slightly agape, while his eyes opened wide and staring at her unblinkingly. "H-how did you. . ."

"How do you think I could know all those things Vaughn unless somehow I've already lived through it? I mean there's no way that anyone would know those things to implant it into my memory right?"

"I. . .how. . ."

"O.K. Then how about this? You have a small, pinkish birthmark near your right hipbone."

Vaughn stared at her, no longer caring about maintaining a cover. She knew it was wrong of her to ambush him like that but she was so frustrated. Perhaps she was used to having Vaughn always yielding to her demands. That was selfish, not to mention, spoiled, but she really didn't need his resistance now. He was her only chance and if he wasn't willing to help, she didn't know what to do.
"Vaughn, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just. . ." she stopped and looked at him again. He had now resumed staring at the ocean, his face no longer rigid with shock. "I just. . .I need you to believe me because you're the only person I know who can help me."
He didn't say anything for a long time and she forced herself to sit there silently. The least she owed him was time to absorb everything that she had just thrown at him. "Were we close?" he finally asked.
"W-what?"
"Were we close?" he repeated, this time turning to look at her intently. 
"You mean. . .f-from before?" He nodded, never taking his eyes from hers. The easy way out of this was to lie, but she found that she couldn't lie to him. That she didn't want to lie to him. "Yes."
"Were we. . .together?" She nodded. "So since you knew. . .about Alice, I guess she and I broke up?"
"You never married her," she said quietly.
To her surprise, he chuckled. Of course, his chuckle was mirthless. . .ironic even. "I guess we really weren't meant to be."
"Us?" 
"Alice and I," said Vaughn, turning back towards the ocean. "She filed for divorce a month ago."
She really didn't know how to react to that news. So she opted for the standard, polite answer. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't be. It's. . .for the best. We shouldn't have gotten married at all."
"Vaughn, I-"
"So. . .time travel, huh?" he said lightly, cutting her off. 
She saw that he didn't want to discuss it further, and acquiesced. Besides, she was grateful to steer away from the entirely too personal tone that the conversation had taken. "It's the best theory I've got so far."
    
"And you want to find Sloane. . .how?"
    
"By finding Emily Sloane."
    
To her surprise, Vaughn shook his head. "That's no easy task, Syd."
    
"Why?"
    
"Emily Sloane went missing right around the time you entered the CIA."
    
"Missing?"
    
He nodded. "She just suddenly. . .disappeared. According to your father, Sloane didn't say a word about it. We thought that was suspicious. And so did the members of the Alliance. We all looked but nothing. After the Alliance's downfall and Sloane's presumed death, we just stopped. She was no longer a priority."
    
"Why wasn't I told about this? It. . .doesn't make any sense, I mean I. . ." She stopped. She was going to say that she would've have known if anything had happened to Emily but that wasn't the whole truth. Emily had been like a surrogate mother to her when her own mother had 'died.' But as she had gotten older, she had grown further and further apart from Emily. And upon discovering the truth about Sloane, she had started to avoid Emily, unable to deal with Sloane's betrayal. "Emily's alive Vaughn and she's with Sloane. When we find her, we find him." She looked at him and held his gaze. "And when we find him, we can fix my life."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N – Sorry for the delay! I actually had this chapter done sometime last week but during a final edit, I found that parts of it just wasn't working so I had to do some major rewriting. And then RL interfered. Anyway - thanks to the regular readers who consistently review – it means so much! And also thanks (and a welcome!) to those who have just discovered this story. I am so glad y'all are still enjoying this story! I'm also very flattered by those who think that my little story is good enough to actually be a viable plot for the show itself. Talk about high praise! :-] This chapter is gonna contain a bit of S/V fluff because well, for one thing – I'd like to have a little calm before the storm. And for another thing, reading the spoilers for the upcoming S3 has me not happy with the state of the S/V ship so I figure a little fanfic tweaking was needed.

Usual disclaimers apply. Reviews are always appreciated so please leave some. :-]

[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts

**********Santa Monica, Nondescript Motel, May 10th, Evening**********

"Hey."

"Hey," she returned his greeting as she opened the door wider to grant him access. 

"Sorry it took so long," he said as he set a take-out bag down on the small table in the room. The room itself was typical of many nondescript, 'highway motels.' It had a bed, a table with some chairs, a small dresser with a TV on top and a bathroom. Functional, yes. Aesthetically appealing, no.

"It's okay," she said, looking around the room nervously. Since she had ambushed Vaughn on the pier earlier that day with all her personal knowledge about him, the tension and awkwardness between them had skyrocketed. If it had been uncomfortable before between them, it was downright unbearable now. Neither knew what to do and their attempt at ignoring the 'big, pink elephant' that stood between them was only adding to the already tense situation. But since she didn't know what else to do, she continued to play the 'game.'

He cleared his throat. "Uh. . .I, uh, checked in with the CIA."

"And?" she prompted, bracing herself for the news.

"The CIA knows you flushed the tracker so now they've asked the NSA to loan its surveillance experts to find you."

"Great," she mumbled. Not only did she have the CIA after her, she would probably have the NSA, the FBI and other assorted alphabet agencies after her as well. It was like she had leap-frogged to the top of the 'Most Wanted' list in the world. "You're NSA, what do you think my chances are?"

Vaughn sighed tiredly. "Maybe you should turn yourself in. You haven't done anything wrong. You can just say you got scared. They'll understand. I mean you went missing for 2 years, with no memory of it and then had to undergo invasive and painful tests. . .it's only reasonable that you'd panic."

She was already shaking her head long before he finished. "And how would I explain the memories I ***do*** have?" She looked at him calmly. "There's no way I'd be able to hide those forever. When they come out, what do I say then? And what about Rambaldi? They already suspect that I'm the one in the prophecy." She shook her head again. "No, last time I cooperated, I was gonna end up a lab rat."

"Last time?"

She sank down on the edge of the bed. "You know. . .from before."

"The CIA wanted you in custody then too?"

She nodded. "Ironic isn't it?"

He rubbed his face tiredly before he sat down in one of the chairs. "This is. . . .I just can't. . .believe it all. I-I mean I believe you and I have this. .instinct that you're telling the truth about everything, but I just. . .it's hard to believe. It's hard to understand."

She looked at him. ***Really*** looked at him for the first time. And she didn't like what she saw. He looked. . .ragged. The creases in his forehead seemed deeper. His hazel eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle. The lines on his face, always barely visible, were clearly evident now. Those lines had given his handsome features some character. They had added sophistication and an air of wisdom to his boyish good looks, but now, those lines simply made him look tired. . .and old. 

Suddenly, she knew she what she had to do. She didn't want to do it, but she owed Vaughn that much. She drew in a deep breath, and stared at the thin, beige carpeting as she gathered up the courage to do what she needed to do. What she should have done in the first place. 

[It's not fair to him. I shouldn't have dragged him into this.]

Vaughn had always been the person that she had leaned on. He had always been her rock. But that was when he ***could*** play such a role. And if she were honest with herself, she had relied on him playing that role too much. She could be demanding, selfish and self-absorbed at times. Never caring about anything, or anyone, besides her own needs, her own plans, her own goals.

She still winced when she thought about how cavalierly she had once asked him to help find her mother. The woman who had killed his father. She was ashamed to admit that she hadn't considered his feelings at all then. And that hadn't been the only incident where she had pushed his feelings aside in pursuit of her own aims.

Even though the Vaughn sitting across from her now hadn't experienced any of that, she had. If she couldn't change where she was now, at least she could change things about herself. So, now, despite being in possibly the worst situation in her life, she had to consider others' feelings. Particularly Vaughn's.

And she had to admit, looking at him, he was in no shape to be her rock. He was going through a divorce. His job with the NSA would be put at risk. She had just dropped into his life, literally, and in the last few hours, she had managed to turn his life upside down. And now she was asking him to risk everything to help her? 

[No, it's ***definitely*** not fair.]

She drew in another deep breath before finally looking up. She was surprised to find him looking at her, as if he had been studying her the same way she had studied the motel's carpet. She cleared her throat nervously. "Uh. . .you know what? M-maybe it's best if you uh, if you went back to the NSA."

His expression didn't change but she caught the shift in his tone. "What do you mean?"

"I just. . .it might be best if you weren't around. . .I-I mean. . .with me. . .now." She cringed inwardly at the way she had stumbled over her words.

He looked over at the door for a moment before turning his gaze back to her. "Are you saying you want me to go?"

[No, I don't ***want*** you to go!] "I think it would be. . .better if you left."

"Better? For who?"

"You, of course."

He rubbed his face agitatedly. "How would it be better for me exactly?"

"Vaughn, I-"

"Because nothing's been better since you. . .came back."

She felt a flash of anger. "Look, I'm sorry. It's not like I had a choice in this!"

"Neither did I!"

"I'm giving you that choice now!"

"No, you're not! You're trying to take the easy way out of this!"

That flash of anger had ignited now. "Easy! ***Easy***? Nothing's easy about this! Do you think it was easy coming back and finding out that you were married? Or that my father's missing? Or being wanted by the CIA, FBI and who knows who else because they think I'm the person in some obscure fifteenth century prophecy?"

"Well it hasn't been easy for me either!" he countered, just as angry. "Finding out that you're alive. And then that you actually are some. . .version of yourself in the future! You think that's been easy? Or to know that you're running while almost every intelligence agency in the world is after you?"

She jumped off the bed. "That's why I want you to leave! I don't want to drag you into this any further!"

"No! You want to get rid of me so that you don't have to worry about what happens between us. If I'm not here, you don't have to be reminded about us. About what you remember. And just for the record, it's too late to be worrying about how you don't want to drag me into this any further!"

She winced. He was right of course. Yes, she wanted to protect him, but a part of her was almost relieved to know that if he did leave, she wouldn't have to deal with her feelings or her memories. 

"It's true, isn't it?" he asked. His anger was still evident, but his voice was calm and quiet now. "You don't want to deal with. . .us."

"There's no us," she said tiredly. "You're. . .a different person altogether. You aren't Vau--. . .I mean you aren't. . .him."

"'Him'"? He looked at her for a beat. "Am I that different from what you remember?"

[No! And that's the problem damn it!]

She looked at the window, hoping a few seconds would clear her mind. Of course, it didn't. "Look, Vaughn, this is. . .it's impossible, OK? I. . ." She stopped and sighed loudly in frustration. "I can't even articulate it! I don't know what's going on between us so how am I supposed to deal with it?"

"By letting me help," he said quietly.

"How can you help? You just said it yourself. . .you can hardly believe the whole thing."

"So we help each other." He got up and moved to where she stood. "You and I. ..we're both confused about things. It seems like we're the only two people who know about Sloane and his Rambaldi device. So wouldn't it be better for us to work through this together as opposed to alone?"

"I just. . .I don't want to mess up your life anymore than I already have."

He shook his head. "You don't get it. My life hasn't been the same since you. . .disappeared two years ago." 

His words caught her off-guard. She could only stare at him as her mind tried, unsuccessfully, to come to terms with what he had just said. "Vaughn, I. . ."

He ran his hand through his hair. "And I don't think it's ever going to be the same again."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

"It's not your fault." He went over to the window and peered out. He stood there for a long time, saying nothing. Finally, he turned back towards her and she was taken aback at the pain she saw in his eyes. "Have you ever thought about what happens when you do find Sloane?"

"I-I don't know," she said with a shrug. "I guess I either take the device or destroy it."

"And then what? You go back? To the world you remember?"

"I guess."

He nodded. "But what happens to everyone. . .here? Do you disappear all over again?"

And for the first time, she finally understood. Vaughn's anger. His reluctance to leave her. And what he meant when he said his life would never be the same again. She had been so focused on 'returning' that she hadn't considered what would happen ***here***. To the world she was going to leave 'behind.' Did it disappear? Did the memories of her here survive? Would everyone have to deal with her disappearance all over again? She had never asked Marshall any of this, and to be honest, she hadn't cared. Until now.

"I don't know," she said softly, sitting on the bed again. "I guess I didn't really think about it."

"I have," he said with a look that bored into her very being. "Every moment that you've been back, I've thought about what it was like to lose you."

"Vaughn-" she managed to choke out before her emotions overwhelmed her.

He came over and sat down next to her on the bed. "Two years ago, when you disappeared, that was the. . .worst I've ever felt in my life. The only other time I've ever felt like that was when my father died." He looked at her, the pain starkly naked in his eyes. "We weren't. . .close then but my feelings for you, they weren't entirely, strictly professional either. I told you I had an instinct about you and the more we worked together, the harder it was to just be your handler." He smiled wryly. "I guess my instinct was right since you and I did end up together. . .in a way."

She bit down on her lip to keep the tears she felt welling behind her eyes from spilling over. What could she say? No matter what. . .there was already too much pain. . .for both of them.

"Were we happy?" he asked abruptly.

"What?"

"When we were together. . .from before, were we happy?"

She nodded. "Despite a lot of obstacles and the craziness of our jobs, yes. Very happy."

He smiled. "Did we fight a lot?"

She returned his smile. Remembering her times with Vaughn was oddly comforting at the moment. "Not really. Sometimes we did. I, uh, picked a few fights."

He chuckled. "Figures."

"Hey," she said, mild indignation in her voice. "You started your share of arguments too you know!"

"Where did we go on our first date?"

"Um, as a couple? Or before we became a couple?"

"What's the difference?"

"Well, as a couple, our first date was at a Kings game." She grinned at his soft laugh. "But before that, we did go on a date in France."

"In France?" he asked, looking pleased.

She nodded. "It was. . .interesting." She grimaced. "Didn't end well."

"Why not?"

"Uh. . .I was still at SD-6 and my father was being investigated by the Alliance, in the form of a woman named Kane. She had sent some of her goons to tail me in hopes that I'd lead them to my father. I led them straight to you instead. Which of course led to a shoot-out." She looked at him and smiled. "You were very cool in that by the way."

"Was I?"

She nodded. "I was handcuffed so you took out both of our captors, ***after*** you threw away your gun."

He grinned, enjoying her description. "Were our lives always that crazy?"

"More or less," she answered. "But we managed to have fun. Sometimes a little too much."

He laughed. "What does that mean?"

"Yeah, we, um," she stopped, feeling the heat creeping up her cheeks as she recalled that night. "Well, we were in this ***really*** long briefing. I mean it was the briefing from hell. And you kept looking at me. . .well, you know. So by the time we finally got out of there, we were, uh, a little. . .impatient. So we ended up, well let's just say we didn't quite make it to my room. So anyway, in the midst of it all, we lost track of time and Will and Francie ended up coming home and catching us. . .well, actually ***you*** in the altogether since I had managed to make a mad dash down the hall."

He laughed. "You hung me out to dry?"

She grinned. "Funny you should say that because Will made some crack with the word 'hung' in it when he saw you then."

He chuckled, even as he blushed. They both smiled into each other's eyes, her remembering her times with Vaughn and him, enjoying her memories. But then reality, their reality here, came roaring back. "It sounds like we. . .I mean you. . .it sounds great."

She heard the pain and longing in his voice and her heart began to ache all over again. This was an impossible situation. She loved him. . .and yet not him. He wasn't 'her' Vaughn. . .not the Vaughn that she shared all those memories with. But yet, he was Vaughn. He had the same qualities she admired, the same values, the same personality traits that she loved. And the attraction. . .that hadn't changed at all. It was the same, yet different. And it all just confused her. . .more now than ever.

"It was," she agreed softly. 

He nodded and turned to look at the window. Silence descended on them as each retreated to their own thoughts. After a while, Vaughn finally spoke. "Have you thought about what happens if you. . .can't get back?"

His question threw her. Amidst all this insanity, it had never occurred to her that she wouldn't succeed in tracking Sloane and 'righting' things. But Vaughn did have a point. 

"No," she said quietly. "It's never been an option for me. I guess I've always thought that this was fixable."

"But if it weren't?" he persisted. "Then you'd be here. . .with me."

She closed her eyes, as another wave of emotions hit. [God, this is hard.] "Vaughn-"

"Look, I know you want to. . .go back. But back where? To what? How do you know things there haven't changed?"

She got up in agitation. She didn't want to hear this. Vaughn had a point. Several points in fact. But she didn't want to think about them. Being able to fix this. . .that had been her only hope in all this. If that were taken away, then what was there? 

"Sydney," Vaughn said gently. She didn't respond and kept her back turned. She didn't want him to see how upset she was. "Sydney." This time his voice was more persistent. When she didn't respond again, she felt his hand on her arm before he gently, but firmly, turned her to face him.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, looking into her eyes. She couldn't fight the attraction to him at this proximity, and not when all her emotions were bubbling so close to the surface. "I. . .I was reacting to the thought of losing you. It. . .scared me. I shouldn't have thrown all that at you. It wasn't fair. You have enough to deal with."

She was mesmerized by his eyes, which seemed to be shifting between green and blue, as if they couldn't decide which color was best for the situation. "It's OK. I've thrown a lot at you too. And you. . .you have a point."

"I'll help you fix this Syd. If you let me."

"You will?"

He nodded, never breaking the contact between their eyes. "If that's what you want, then of course, I'll help you."

She heard the pain in his voice, despite his calm demeanor and she involuntarily reached up to touch his cheek gently. Too late she realized that wasn't the best move in their highly charged 'moment' because touching him turned her attraction into a full-fledged flame of desire. And suddenly her head was no longer in control. 

Only her heart. Her heart which had been dying a little inside since she had awoken in Hong Kong. The heart that remembered, vividly, what it was like to be with Vaughn. To touch him. To hold him. To be held by him. To kiss him. And to want him with a passion that was startling in its intensity.

For an instant, her head managed to seize control again. [You'll only make things worse! This isn't time ***or*** place.] But before she could react, her heart, fueled by desire, ruthlessly suppressed any form of logic or rationale.

For her, there was only Vaughn. Her beloved Vaughn. . .just as she remembered. Standing before her, looking at her with such tenderness in his eyes. She clasped his cheeks with her hands and gently, but firmly, lowered his head to hers. She felt a split-second of resistance from him and then he gave in willingly. 

The kiss was different. This one had an urgency. . .a desperation to it that she had never experienced before. But the feelings were the same. Her lips fit into his as if she had never spent a day without kissing him. As if kissing him were as natural to her as breathing, although she was doing very little breathing at the moment.

They kissed hungrily, while their hands clasped each other tightly, pulling each other closer and closer. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears while her body, now firmly pressed against Vaughn's, ignited from her toes up, as if she were standing in molten lava. She moaned softly and felt Vaughn wrap one arm tightly around her waist as his other hand tangled in her hair. She felt her knees growing weak as her tongue tangled with his, and knew that she couldn't stand much longer.

And then she heard it. A distant siren. And just like that, her head seized control again.

She abruptly ended the kiss and stared at the door nervously, listening with all her might to see if the siren was getting closer. But she heard it fade away. She sighed in relief and leaned her head against Vaughn's shoulder as she tried to sort through her jumbled emotions.

"Syd?" 

She pulled back and looked at him. She could see that their brief, but highly passionate, encounter had thrown him as well. His breathing was ragged and she could clearly see the play of emotions in his eyes.

"Vaughn-" she managed before the magnitude of the situation hit her. "Oh, God, I'm. . ."

She pulled away from him abruptly and moved to door, as if putting some physical distance between them would help her. But the room had now become so highly charged that it was a futile gesture.

She touched her kiss-swollen lips and drew in a shaky breath. It had been far too easy. Far too easy to get lost in her feelings for Vaughn. Far too easy to just let go and just to. . .feel. She knew there was nothing wrong in that. In normal circumstances. But this was anything but 'normal circumstances.' And now, instead of somehow resolving the conflicting, confusing emotions that she had for Vaughn, ***this*** Vaughn, she had only made things worse.

"Sydney." His voice was closer, as if he were standing right behind her. For that reason, she shifted so that her back remained towards him. She didn't know if she had enough control quite yet to look him in the face. 

"Vaughn, I'm. . .I'm sorry. I-I shouldn't. . .God!" She ran her hand through her hair forcefully. "That was. . .I shouldn't have. . .kissed you. It just. . ."

"Sydney, could you please look at me?"

She wanted to say 'no' but she knew that was a childish response. She had to face, literally, the consequences of her impetuous actions. She drew in another shaky breath and then slowly turned to face him.

Instead of finding anger, disappointment or pain in his expression, she saw only resignation tinged with sadness. Anger, disappointment and pain, she could deal with. . .but this? This she didn't quite know how to handle.

"It's OK," he said softly. "I understand."

"You do?"

He nodded. "Like you said, I'm not. . .him." He smiled at her. "And you love him."

"I do," she said softly. "And you are him. . .in a way. Which is what makes this so hard. But it's not fair of me to. . .use you as him." She shook her head. "This isn't making a lot of sense."

"It is, in a weird way," he said. "I may look and even act like the Vaughn you remember, but I don't have those memories, those experiences. I might as well be a stranger to you. And you're. . .in a bad situation so it's understandable that things. . .got out of control."

"Vaughn, that's. . .it's not excuse." She looked at him sadly. "I should have-"

"Look, let's just say we made a mistake," he interrupted. "And leave it at that. Okay?"

She looked at him doubtfully but since she wasn't prepared to confront her feelings or this situation fully, she realized her best option was to take the 'out' that Vaughn was giving her. She nodded. "Okay."

He nodded and then sighed. "So do you really want me to leave? Let you go at this alone?"

"It's, uh, it's up to you. I shouldn't have tried to make that decision for you."

He smiled at her veiled apology. "OK. Then I'd like to help you. I can't go back to the NSA anyway."

"What! Why?"

"You know when I said I checked in?" She nodded. "It was with Weiss. He and I stayed friends even after I left the CIA. He told me Kendall talked to my superior at the NSA. They know I'm helping you. Weiss said they're gonna track us both."

"Oh, God, Vaughn. I'm. . .so sorry."

He shook his head. "This is ***exactly*** what I want to do." 

Not knowing what else to say for the sacrifices he was so willing to make for her, she managed a soft, but heartfelt, "Thank you."

He smiled in understanding and they shared a deep, meaningful look before he nodded and then headed towards the door. "Listen, I'm going to, uh, get us some. . .gear. And check in with Weiss again. See where we stand."

**********Santa Monica, Nondescript Motel, May 10th, Later**********

Vaughn hadn't been gone that long when the call came. At first she was confused by the beeping sound and then she remembered the cell phone that her mother had given her. Quickly, she retrieved it and answered.

Her mother's voice was curt and business-like and the message was short and to the point. There was no greeting, no exchange of pleasantries. Only the message and then the call was terminated.

"Tomorrow, 9 am. Wait for instructions."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – So very sorry for the long delay in updating, and I know I said that I wanted to wrap this up before Alias premieres on September 28th but alas, RL had other plans. First Hurricane Isabel smacked my area pretty good and I lost power for a couple of days, then I had to leave for an out-of-town business trip. So basically, wrapping this up by the 28th just ain't gonna happen. LOL BUT rest assured I WILL wrap this story up. I have the ending in my head and the only way to get it out is to write it down! Anyway, as I mentioned last chapter, the storm is coming and this chapter brings the thunder/lightning. Thanks to all those who have reviewed but more please! :0]

[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts

**********Santa Monica, Nondescript Motel, May 11th, Morning*********

Sydney had barely slept the night before. Anticipating the call from her mother, combined with the tension and awkwardness of sharing a motel room with Vaughn had kept her on edge and awake.

Not that anything would have happened. After their impulsive and passionate kiss, both she and Vaughn had seemingly come to a silent agreement to maintain a 'safe distance' between them. This caused even more awkwardness as they both overcompensated and were hyper-aware of the other's presence. She hated it, but what else could she do?

The kiss had established that her attraction to Vaughn was as intense as ever. And clearly, he was as attracted to her as she was to him. But the situation was too strange, too complicated, too emotionally volatile for them to act on that attraction. She didn't know what was going to happen, and it wasn't fair to complicate an already messy situation any further. It wasn't fair to anyone. . .but most of all Vaughn. 

For his part, Vaughn tried to make things as easy as possible. He was cordial and polite. . .sometimes too polite. His behavior reminded her of his attitude and actions towards her when they had first started working together. Professional, but with a sense of familiarity that he firmly kept in check. 

He had suggested that they take turns sleeping and keeping watch. She had agreed to sleep first, but she hadn't managed to really sleep. She had tried to because she knew she would need her strength, but her mind refused to slow down. So many thoughts kept racing through her head. She had closed her eyes, and Vaughn probably mistook it to mean that she was asleep, because she had caught him looking at her once with an expression of such longing and regret that it made her heart ache. When he 'woke' her, she hadn't said anything but to her, the unexpressed emotions between them seemed to have multiplied.

Vaughn hadn't even tried to sleep when it was his turn. He had laid on the bed, hands clasped behind his head and had stared at the ceiling. After about an hour, he had silently gotten up and showered. After his shower, he had asked her if she wanted anything specific for breakfast. When she declined, he had told her that he needed to pick up 'supplies' for them and then had headed out.

She had been relieved when he had left. She was glad to be freed of the underlying tension between them certainly, but since she had not yet revealed her mother's involvement in their search for Sloane and the Rambaldi device, she was also glad that he wasn't going to be there for the phone call. 

[I'll explain. But later. One thing at a time.]

She checked her watch for what must be the hundredth time that hour and saw that there was little more than a few minutes until 9 am. The hour designated by her mother for the 'instructions.' 

[Instructions for what? Could I even follow those instructions given my circumstances? Do I even trust those instructions?]

She shook her head and walked to the window. She had so many questions. Even since she had awoken in that alley in Hong Kong, that was all that she had. Questions. Even when she got answers, they only raised more questions. She peered outside and saw that it was clear. There were no suspicious looking cars or people. She did another visual sweep of the area surrounding the motel just to be sure before she returned to the chair.

Just then, the cell phone rang, startling her. "H-hello."

"Hello, Sydney." She expelled her breath slowly, both relieved and worried at the sound of her mother's voice. "Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Where's Agent Vaughn?"

She considered her mother's nonchalant inquiry as to Vaughn's whereabouts. It wouldn't have been a stretch for her mother to assume that Vaughn was with her. Enough time had elapsed so that the Joint Task force would now know that he was AWOL. But was it just a good guess? Or was there something else going on? She still hadn't quite figured out what Vaughn's relationship to her mother was, but this was neither the time nor place to probe it.

"Sydney?" her mother prompted, her voice impatient.

"H-he's out getting some supplies."

"Good. You'll need them."

"For what?"

"Your trip," her mother responded tersely. "You're going to Rome."

"R-rome?"

"Go to LAX. Find Locker 32 near the car rental area. Inside will be everything you need."

"Why Rome?"

"Your flight leaves in a few hours, Sydney. You need to hurry."

"But I-" 

"Good Luck." She heard a click and then the sound of dead air as the call was terminated. 

**********Santa Monica, Nondescript Motel, Later**********

It was a good thing that Vaughn had returned shortly thereafter. After the call with her mother, she had begun to wonder whether she should leave now, without Vaughn, in order to assure that she found the locker and get the necessary materials with enough time to catch her flight, or risk missing the flight to wait for him to return. Before she could really begin to worry about the time, he had returned, carrying several plastic bags as well as a brand new duffel bag.

She had decided that the best way to reveal her mother's involvement to him was to be as direct and honest as possible. She had expected some measure of surprise and concern, but Vaughn had been neither of those things. In fact, he seemed to expect her to tell him that her mother had called with instructions to go to Rome.

While she hadn't been surprised about her mother knowing about Vaughn's role in her search for Sloane, she was definitely surprised about Vaughn's lack of surprise about her mother's involvement. And unlike with her mother, she could, and definitely would, question Vaughn.

"How come you're not surprised?"

He stopped stuffing the new clothes that he had bought into the duffel bag. "I'm not."

"What? What do you mean you're not?"

He gave her a curious look. "Should I be surprised? I mean she's your mother, Syd. Of course she'd be the one helping you."

"That's not necessarily true," she countered. "She's also the Director, or at least the Acting Director of the Joint Task Force at the CIA which, not coincidentally, is after us." She gave him a hard look. "We shouldn't be so quick to trust her."

He said nothing for several minutes, just staring at her, as if contemplating something. "Were you. . .close to your mother? I mean from, you know, before."

She shook her head. "No. She was an entirely different person." She considered her words. "No, actually that's not true. She's still the same in a lot of ways. Still hard to read. Still keeping her agenda and her motivations close to her chest. Still hard to trust."

"What was your relationship like? The one that you do remember?"

"My mother was a KGB agent," she said matter-of-factly. "She turned herself in, then betrayed us. Then she helped us and then. . .I don't know anymore. Along the way, she killed a lot of people. Sacrificed too many innocents. She shot me and. . ." She stopped and looked at Vaughn, who seemed stunned by what she was saying. "And she. . .killed your father." 

"W-what!"

"Your father was killed by my m-mother. . .on orders from the KGB."

Vaughn rubbed his face tiredly. "You certainly don't have an easy life do you? No matter what time frame you're in."

She smiled wryly. "No, I guess I don't." She looked at him curiously. "You mentioned that your father had died. Was he killed in action?"

Vaughn nodded. "Yes, but not by your mother, Syd. At least not ***here.*** In fact, my father worked on your mother's case while she was a double in the KGB. He wasn't her handler, but he worked closely with her handler to coordinate missions and countermissions based on the intel she fed the Agency."

"So he was like. . .Weiss?"

He smiled. "Yeah, in a way." He cleared his throat. "He was on a mission. . .a raid of a facility that had weapons stockpiled. Your mother had fed us intelligence giving us the location. Anyway, there was a firefight and he was shot. He died from his wounds several days later."

"I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Thank you."

She sighed. "O.K. So this. . .version of mother, she didn't do any of the things that I remember. She's not the same person. I can understand that. On a rational basis. But there's still something about her that I just don't trust on an instinctive level."

"And that has nothing to do with your memories of her? From before?"

Her temper flared. "No! Give me ***some*** credit would you?"

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I just. . .I don't blame you if you didn't trust her because of what you remembered, Syd." He held up his hand to stop her from interrupting, which she had been on the verge of doing. "I mean to have those memories and then to be thrust into this bizarre situation where everything is literally backwards. . .it'd make anyone distrustful. But Syd, you have to know this. Your mother. . .ever since she was brought back into the Agency, she's made your case her top priority, even with orders and directives from Langley telling her to drop the case."

"How do you know this?"

A long pause before he said softly, "You never asked me what I did at the NSA." 

She looked at him warily, knowing she needed to ask, and yet not really wanting to. "What?"

"I was involved with the DSR. The Department of Special-"

"Research," she finished, staring at him disbelievingly. "You were involved with that group? Those people wanted to lock me up and probably cut me open to study me to see how I fitted into the whole Rambaldi prophecy thing!"

"So you're familiar with them," he said wryly.

"This isn't a joke, Vaughn!" she cried, angry. "Those people are. . .they're scary, O.K? I mean they. . ." She stopped, trying to control her anger. "I guess they're probably different here too, huh? Their methods probably aren't as. . .invasive or-"

"No," he said, quietly interrupting. "They're still like that. Their methods are intrusive and-"

"Unconstitutional? Illegal?"

"I wasn't involved in that aspect of it, Syd," he said, ignoring her sarcastic needling. "I only asked to transfer there for one reason."

"What reason?"

"You."

She stared at him. "I'm not following."

"After we took down the Alliance and started studying their files, Rambaldi came up. Over and over again. As we learned more about it, we learned more about you and your ties to Rambaldi." He frowned. "But the CIA didn't think it was worth looking into. Some 16th Century psychic definitely didn't take precedence when we had years of Alliance data to sort through."

He made eye contact then and she saw the pain in them. "But I. . .I thought the Rambaldi angle would give us clues."

"Clues about what?"

"You. And whether you were really dead."

She looked at him in surprise. "Y-you mean you didn't think that I was really dead?"

"I don't know," he said tiredly. "I just. . . .it was something that could give me some. . .closure. So when the CIA officially deep-sixed the Rambaldi project and transferred it to the DSR in hopes that we'd never hear about it again. . .I asked for a transfer."

She was overwhelmed by his revelation. And the revelation just made it more painful for her to realize just what he had sacrificed, what he may have to sacrifice, for her. "I don't-"

"I hadn't been there for more than a few months when your mother contacted me. She said that she needed to keep track of the DSR's progress but without the brass knowing. So I became her inside contact there."

She shook her head. "You and my mother?"

"Look, Syd, I know you have problems trusting her because of. . .well, everything. But Laura Bristow, she's not who you think she is. My father always talked about how brave she was for doing what she did. He had a lot of respect for her."

She couldn't quite wrap her mind around what Vaughn was saying. Her mother as some honorable, dedicated agent working to find her or to figure out the Rambaldi mystery? That just didn't comport with what she remembered. And the mysterious woman that she was 'here' – that didn't help alter Sydney's preconceived notions at all.

Vaughn zipped up the bag. "Look, I know you have a lot of questions but we need to go. We have a flight to catch."

*********Flight En Route to Rome, Italy, May 11th, Later**********

Locker 32 had contained a backpack filled with more money, airline tickets, fake passports and disguises for both herself and Vaughn. They had gone into separate restrooms to change and when they had emerged, she had transformed herself from the wild, punk/rock look into a young college student on a tour of Europe whose first stop would be Italy. The backpack was on her back and a baseball cap, sporting the insignia of a school that she guessed she attended on the front, was on her head.

She had met up with Vaughn a few mimutes later and he, too, had transformed himself. Unlike Sydney, however, he was dressed in business casual with khaki pants and a light polo shirt. Vaughn carried the duffel bag that he had bought earlier, and sported sunglasses on the top of his head. She couldn't help admiring him. He definitely pulled off the sexy, casual look well.

They had made it through airport security without incident, although her nerves had been stretched tightly the entire time. And she hadn't relaxed at all once they had boarded the plane. She and Vaughn sat in different sections of the plane but she felt his presence.

She sighed and glanced around the dimly lit plane. Most of the passengers were either dozing or reading. A few were working on computer laptops. The flight attendants had already passed out the on-flight meal and were now either just standing around chatting with each other, or walking up and down the aisles to see if anyone needed anything. No one was paying any attention to her, so she decided to chance a glimpse at Vaughn.

As nonchalantly as she could, she turned and glanced across the aisle at him. He was seated a few rows behind her and the entire middle section of the jumbo jet separated them, but she could see him clearly. At first, he was simply staring in disinterest out the window but then, as if he could feel her looking at him, he turned his head and caught her eyes. They shared a meaningful, but brief, look between them before he smiled and nodded his head slightly as if the reassure her. 

She sighed softly again and turned her head back to the front of the plane. [What the hell am I going to find in Rome?]

**********Rome, Italy, May 11th, Late Evening**********

There had been no instructions in the backpack beyond the obvious. Tickets to Rome, passports and disguises didn't require much thought or instruction. Both she and Vaughn knew what to do. . .even without their spy training and field experience. She had been concerned about the lack of further instructions but had that concern had been brief as she had focused entirely on getting safely and undetected to Rome.

Now that she was here, however, her concern was back. And it had grown. She wasn't sure if Vaughn shared her concern, but she guessed that he did because he was sitting in the waiting area of the airport, looking around anxiously while she stood a few feet away, peering at a Arrivals/Departures board as if searching for information. But she was intensely aware of the cell phone in her pocket. The small object seemed to get heavier with each passing minute. She had already taken it out and examined it once to make sure it was still functioning. It was. 

[Why isn't she calling? What are we supposed to do here?]

She was debating on whether to risk going over and speaking to Vaughn when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and was greeted with a nasty shock.

"Hello, Sydney," Arvin Sloane said casually. He smiled at her, in that oddly paternal way that always sent a chill through her. "Did you have a pleasant flight?"

"W-what-" she managed to choke out in her shock. Before she could get any further, however, she noticed four very large men moving towards her and Vaughn.

"You need to come with me," Sloane said. His expression was still calm, pleasant even, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of his 'request.'


	11. Conclusion1

A/N – Hey, what happened to the feedback? :-{ Thanks to those that DID review but come on guys! I need some encouragement here – especially since the new season seems to be off to a rather slow, choppy start and is not doing much to "inspire" me. Well, I guess I'll just have to pull a "Sloane" on y'all and use good old-fashioned blackmail. LOL This is Part One of the conclusion. Parts Two and Three are written, edited and ready to go but I need some feedback before I post it. Yes, I am a wee bit evil, why do you ask? :-} Seriously, feedback would be appreciated. Part Two will go up in a week's time regardless. 

[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts

*********Rome, Italy, Sloane's hideaway, May 12th, Early Morning**********

That had been the longest night of her life. 

She was sitting in a windowless room, somewhere in the basement level of Sloane's house. She didn't know what the house looked like, where it was, or how many people were in it. She didn't even really know if it was a house, but it was a good guess that it was, from the sounds that she had heard. 

She had had no choice but to obey Sloane. Especially when one of his guards had placed a threatening hand on Vaughn's shoulder, while another had slipped his hand inside his jacket as if reaching for a weapon. The message was clear. Put up a fight and Vaughn would have been killed. So she had given in, and had gone quietly with Sloane.

They had walked out of the airport, and to the waiting cars parked outside. Vaughn had been hustled into the second car while she had been placed into the first car with Sloane. Once inside the car, one of Sloane's guards had placed a blindfold on her and they had driven off.

They had driven for close to an hour before they pulled up at Sloane's hideaway. Then she had been ushered inside the house, or what she thought was a house, and then down several flights of steps before being placed into this windowless room that had a cot, pillow and blanket. There was an adjoining bathroom that had been expertly 'modified' so that anything that could have been broken off and used as a weapon or means of escape had either been welded shut, or removed.

And that's where she had spent the entire night. Except for a guard coming in a few hours after her arrival to give her some water and a sandwich, there had been no contact with anyone. She hadn't seen or heard about Vaughn since leaving the airport, nor had Sloane been in to see her. 

She had been on edge for the first few hours of her captivity, anticipating an interrogation from Sloane, but as the time had passed, and she realized that neither Sloane nor anyone else would be in to see her, she had relaxed a bit. Which didn't seem to help her at all because that had been when the mass of jumbled thoughts in her head threatened to overwhelm her.

Did her mother set her up? How else would Sloane know that she was in Rome and at that particular time? But why? Why would her mother work with Sloane when she knew he had the Rambaldi device in his possession? And why would Sloane want to capture her again if he had let her go before? But why had he let her go before? Where was her father? Had her mother been lying when she had said that her father was with Sloane? And where was Vaughn? What happened to him? Had he been hurt?

And that's how it had gone all night. Question after question after question. And no answers. Each question just bred more questions to the point that she wanted to scream. She had finally collapsed on the cot in exhaustion and had slept. For how long she didn't know. But when she awoke, there were slivers of sunlight coming from the cracks in the door.

That had been a while ago. An hour or so she would guess and still, there was no sign of anyone coming to see her. She had finally given in and had eaten the sandwich, and had drunken most of the water. Now, she was right back to where she had been last night. Consumed by questions without answers.

Just then, she heard footsteps outside the door. She jumped up, instantly on guard and at the ready. She watched the door intently as it slowly opened. And then one of the guards from the airport last night came in. He looked at her for a beat before he said in a clipped voice,

"Let's go."

He stepped back from the door and indicated that she should precede him. She looked at him warily before she walked out the door. The guard, she noticed, was unarmed, and kept a safe distance from her. He also allowed her to walk ahead of him, every so often instructing her which way to turn. 

[Well-trained. But what else would I expect from Sloane?]

She had been right. It was a house. A rather old one from the looks of it. But well maintained and elegantly decorated if the few hallways she walked through was any indication. She tried to catch glimpses of the outside as she walked by the windows, but she didn't see much more than trees and open field. Wherever she was, it was a remote location. 

Soon, she found herself in front of a set of heavy, double doors. "Go in," instructed the guard.

She paused and took a deep breath before she pushed open the door and walked in. She found herself in what appeared to be a sitting room. There were a few antique-looking sofas in the room, a large coffee table, several armchairs. To one side was a buffet table that contained several dishes of what looked to be breakfast food, and large windows lined the wall opposite the double doors.

She glanced around the room quickly and saw that she was the only one in it. She turned back to the guard, thinking he would have other instructions for her but she saw the door closing and then heard a click as the lock was turned. Instinctively, she looked at the doorknob and saw that the door locked from the other side. 

She sighed. Clearly, she was supposed to have breakfast here. The plates of food on the buffet table looked fresh, and some were still emitting wisps of steam. Yet the last thing she wanted to do was eat.She settled for pouring herself a cup of coffee.

She walked over to the windows and looked out. All she saw was a field of grass. To one side was a grouping of trees. As she suspected, the house seemed to be in a remote, hard-to-access, location. She glanced at the window. Locked. And the locks had locks. She tapped the glass. Reinforced. Even if she could use one of the chairs to smash the windows, the guards would likely be in the room, subduing her, before she managed to do enough damage to the glass to break out.

Just then, she heard the lock click on the door. Startled, she turned to see the door opening. Expecting either Vaughn or Sloane, she was shocked to see her father walk through the door.

"Daddy?"

Her father regarded her with a mixture of regret and happiness. "Hello, Sweetheart."

In an instant, she had slammed her coffee cup onto the nearest table and was running into her father's arms. "Oh my God! Dad! Are you okay?"

Her father held her tightly to him. "I'm fine, sweetheart," he whispered. 

They held each other closely for several long minutes before he pulled away. He looked at her for several minutes more, saying nothing. It was as if he were memorizing every feature of her face. He touched her head gently. "I'm so sorry, Sydney."

"For what?" she asked, confused.

"For this. Bringing you here. It was too risky but your mother-"

"She betrayed us didn't she?"

Her father looked taken aback by her statement. "What? No. Sydney, your mother. . .she would never betray us."

"Well, how else do you explain Sloane showing up at the airport. It was like he knew I was going to be there. . .at that time, on that flight."

"He did know," her father said quietly. "But that wasn't your mother's fault. It was mine."

"Yours?"

Her father nodded as he moved to one of the sofas in the room, drawing her with him. They settled into the sofa, sitting close and facing each other. "How much did your mother explain to you?"

"Some," she said. She shook her head. "But none of it made much sense."

"But Rambaldi and the prophecy? Do you understand your role in that?"

She sighed. "Allegedly I'm the woman Rambaldi spoke of in his prophecy."

"Yes."

"But that-" She stopped and shook her head. Something in her still refused to accept that she was the woman in the ancient prophecy. "Dad. . .this. . .what's going on? Have you really been working with Sloane?" 

Her father sighed heavily and turned to stare out the window for a beat. When he looked back at her, his face was composed in that legendary 'poker face' of his. But his eyes were brimming with unexpressed emotions.

"Sydney," he began, his voice both urgent and gentle. "Listen to me, sweetheart. There isn't a lot of time. You must believe this. You are the woman in the prophecy. And because of that, you are the only one who can stop Sloane."

"Stop him how? From doing what?"

Before her father could answer, the door opened again and Vaughn, unshaven, disheveled and exhausted, walked into the room. He saw her first and his eyes lit up. When he saw her father, however, his happiness quickly turned to confusion. "J-Jack?"

Without thinking, she got up and walked over to Vaughn and embraced him. He hugged her tightly. "Are you OK?" she asked.

"Fine," he whispered, slowly releasing her. "You?"

She nodded. "My Dad was about to-"

"Ahh, good," said a familiar voice. She turned sharply towards the door to find Slaone, dressed casually in a linen shirt and khaki trousers, smiling at them all. "Everyone's here."

She instinctively moved away from him as he walked into the room. He was still smiling that infuriatingly benign smile of his. "Have you tried the eggs? They're delicious."

Sloane glanced around the room, and when no one responded to his inquiry, he gave a nonchalant shrug. "Ah, well, I guess we can just get started then." He looked over at her father. "Jack, it's always a pleasure when you can join me here." He father made no response, only looking at Sloane with open contempt. Sloane chuckled softly. "It's a shame Jack. We started on this quest together. That was what brought us. . .and our families together in the first place. And here we are now, on opposite sides. . .fighting each other."

"It was never a quest for me," her father said calmly. "It was merely another mission."

"I don't believe that, Jack. You've been as obsessed with Rambaldi as I have."

"What you believe or don't believe doesn't concern me. My only concern here is-"

"Yes," Sloane cut in. "And I share that concern, Jack. Believe it or not. I too am concerned about Sydney."

"You son of a bitch!" she cried. "You're not concerned about anyone but yourself!"

Sloane regarded her impassively. "I understand your anger, Sydney. And I wish there had been a way to avoid this."

It took every ounce of control she had not to close the distance between them and to start pummeling him. She had never had such intense hatred for anyone before. Her emotions were so strong, so raw, that they nearly overwhelmed her. "What have you done to me you son of a bitch?"

"I helped you, Sydney." He smiled at her. "You could even say that I saved your life."

"That's a lie!"

"Is it?" He looked at her challengingly.

"If you've helped me in any way, it was only because it served your purposes!"

Sloane smiled at her before he went to the buffet to pour himself a cup of coffee. He took his time with his coffee cup, finally carrying over to a sofa and settling down. "You have great passion, Sydney. For your work, for your friends, for your family. And even for me."

She gritted her teeth, biting back the angry retort. "I'm gonna ask you again, what the hell have you done to me?"

"What? Your father hasn't filled you in?" He glanced over at her father briefly before turning his attention back to her. "Well, no of course not. There wasn't any time. But surely. . .surely Laura filled her in, Jack?" Once again, Sloane turned back to her father, a smile playing across his lips.

Her father remained expressionless and didn't respond. Sloane looked at him for several beats before chuckling softly. She could feel her anger building, as she watched Sloane 'hold court.' He was obviously enjoying their discomfort, their tension. . .their pain. 

"Tell me!" she yelled.

Sloane turned to her, nonplussed at her outburst. "In time, Sydney."

Something snapped inside of her, and without thinking, she leapt across the distance between them, lunging at him with a ferociousness that was startling. She managed to knock him off-balance and they both toppled to the ground. In the initial confusion, no one reacted, so she had time to slam Sloane against the ground. Just once but with brutal force.

"You son of a bitch!" she screamed. "Tell me what you did! Tell m—"

And then she felt strong arms wrap themselves around her and haul her off of Sloane. She fought wildly, her only instinct then was to get back to pummeling Sloane but she was no match, in her uncoordinated, blinded fury, for Sloane's disciplined and focused bodyguards. She was lifted off her feet, even as she kicked about wildly and then slammed into a chair. Hard. The impact stunned her, and she lost her fury-induced momentum. She heard the sound of cuffs being unclasped, and then felt the cold metal snap tightly against her wrist. She jerked her arm defiantly and was rewarded with a sharp pain as the cuffs strained against the solid wood of the chair's arm.

She cursed, and turned back to Sloane. He was being helped up by one of his guards. He looked completely unfazed and even smiled at her forgivingly. This, of course, only fueled her anger even more.

She uttered a cry of pure rage and again tried to lunge at Sloane. The cuffs and the chair jerked her back roughly. A sharp pain emanated from her wrist and she winced. She glared at Sloane, breathing heavily. Her expression, she knew, was one of primal rage. If there had been no one to stop her, she would have killed Sloane without a second thought. She knew it. . .and it scared her. This rage she was feeling. . .it was something she had never felt before. She had thought that the depths of her anger had been discovered when she had found Danny's bloodied body in the bathtub. But that was almost nothing compared to what she was feeling now. Her anger at Sloane, in this very instant, it was. . .overpowering her. She felt as if all she could do was to give in to it, despite the fact that she knew that by doing so, it would only lead to worse things. It was as if the anger, the rage, was in control now.

Sloane was still calmly adjusting his suit. She glanced at her father, who was looking at her with an expression she took to be concern, but yet, something else was mixed in as well. Something she couldn't quite read. She looked at Vaughn. He was staring at her in disbelief. She knew it wasn't disbelief at her actions, but at the emotions and intensity of her actions. He had seen her violent before. That was almost a prerequesite for his job as her handler. But she knew he had never seen her so wildly out of control before. 

"Good." She turned to Sloane who was sipping a glass of water and smiling. "That was good, Sydney."

[What the hell? Did he just compliment me on trying to kill him? He's crazier than I thought!]

"Enough of these games, Arvin!" her father suddenly burst out. 

Sloane regarded her father calmly for several minutes before he angled his head, as if tipping his hat. "You're right, Jack. It's time to end this. No more games."

She looked at Sloane, her anger dissipating and being replaced by fear. She had seen him like that before. Many times in fact. It was usually when he was about to order someone's torture or murder. It was Sloane. . .at his most ruthless.

Sloane took a last drink of his water, before he set the glass back down on the buffet table. He nodded to one of his bodyguards, who silently unclipped the sidearm from his holster.

She watched, panicked as the bodyguard handed Sloane his weapon. Sloane looked at the gun for a beat before he released the safety. He chambered a bullet calmly. He looked at the gun once more, and then over at her. They made eye contact for what seemed like an eternity. 

So many thoughts were racing through her mind at that instant. 

[That's it? He's just going to shoot me? After everything? That just wouldn't make sense. If he wanted to shoot me, he could have done that so many times before. Why the elaborate set-up? The missing years? The presumed time travel? Why would he. . .]

And then, she understood. It was as if the cloud of confusion suddenly parted and clarity was able to peer through.

[Oh my God! Oh my God! No! NO!]

"No!" she screamed, and resumed her struggling anew. She ignored the pain in her wrist as she yanked again, and again at the cuffs binding her clattered noisily. Her frantic actions caused Vaughn and her father to turn towards her. Up until that moment, they had been staring at Sloane and the gun helplessly.

"Syd, what are you-" Vaughn began before her father cut in.

"Sydney?" She heard the concern in her father's voice but she ignored him. She was focused on Sloane, who by now had raised the gun. Because both her father and Vaughn were looking at her frantic, but futile, attempts to free herself, they didn't see Sloane aim the gun first at Vaughn, and then at her father.

Her spy-trained senses noted that Sloane's bodyguards had moved outside the firing zone. She also noted that they had handcuffed her to a chair, also safely outside the firing range. There was nothing to stop Sloane from shooting now. And from the look on his face, she knew he had every intention of doing so. It had been his plan all along, she realized.

"NO!" she screamed, sounding completely panic-stricken. "Please! No!"

"I'm sorry, Sydney," Sloane said softly, pointing the gun steadily at his target. "It has to be done."

It seemed as if time slowed down then. There was the loud 'pop' as Sloane fired the gun. She watched, and for an instant, she could almost swear that she saw the bullet fly out of the barrel as if it too were moving in slow motion. The noise from the gunshot caused both Vaughn and her father to turn simultaneously towards Sloane so that when the bullet hit its target, it wasn't to the side, or from behind, but from the front. At almost point-blank range.

She watched, horrified, as the bullet struck. Its victim uttered a cry before crumpling to the ground, bloody and lifeless.

"VAUGHN!"

****I hate to do this y'all, but TO BE CONTINUED. . . . .:-)


	12. Conclusion2

A/N – Now, see, I wasn't gonna keep you in suspense like that for long! Well, this wraps up the story. I have had a blast writing it. And the feedback that I've been given has been amazing. It has really kept me going so MANY THANKS to those who took the time to read this story and to drop me a note! I hope the ride was worth it for you! :)

And a very special thank you to Claudia – who through her kindness, ceaseless enthusiasm for my writing and good humor has been inspiring and a great help in conquering some truly fearsome writer's block. I'm so very glad that we've forged a brand new friendship through my little story. :)

Oh and finally, if anyone would like to archive this story, just let me know!

So without further adieu. . . .the CONCLUSION to "Time Out of Mind". . . .

[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts

********Rome, Italy, Sloane's Hideaway, May 12, Morning********

She didn't know how much time had passed.

To her, it felt like an eternity. 

All that she had been aware of was Vaughn's lifeless body, crumpled on the ground, a bullet hole in his chest, and blood pooling around his body. 

She had barely been aware of Sloane calmly instructing his bodyguards to take her father and go. She had been barely aware of him murmuring his apologies to her before he left. All she could do was stare at Vaughn.

And then, just as suddenly, she seemed to snap out of her fog. She began to struggle against the cuffs anew. This time with a rabid, blind determination. She jerked at the cuffs repeatedly for several minutes, before conceding that it wasn't going to give. Then, letting her spy training kick in, she looked around the room, to see if anything could be used to aid her escape. Seeing nothing immediately, she turned her attention to the chair that she was cuffed to. It was an antique, but sturdily built. But from a quick study of it, she knew that the chair could be broken. The question was. . .how? 

She glanced around the room again and looked at the heavy wooden doors. She grabbed the chair and picked it up and edged over to the door. She checked the handle. Locked. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. She couldn't hear anything from the other side. But that didn't mean that Sloane's guards weren't standing there.

[Still, if they were out there, they would have heard the commotion I've been making and come in by now.]

She studied the doors once again. A strategically placed blow with the chair should accomplish two things. Break the chair so that she could be freed and knock open the doors at the same time. It would take quite a lot of force, but she was confident that her years of training and fieldwork had equipped her to do what was necessary.

She looked at the chair again and decided that the best place to strike it was at the base of the leg, opposite the arm that bound her. She spent a few seconds working the cuffs to the best position and then a few more to pick up the chair and to hold it in a way that a quick, strong, decisive blow would shatter it the way she wanted. She positioned herself to best avoid any flying debris. Gripping the chair in her hands tightly, she eyed the place on the doors that she wanted to hit for several seconds, internally working herself up to deliver the blow. 

[Okay. . .here we go. . .three. . .two. . .one!] 

***BANG!!***

The chair crashed against the door loudly and she felt it buckled in her hands, but it was still intact. She gritted her teeth, tightened her grip and swung the chair again. This time exerting as much force as she could, given her awkward position.

***BANG!!***

Again, she felt the chair buckle. She glanced at the door. There was a sizable dent in it from where the chair had impacted, but the doors and lock held steady.

She inhaled, re-adjusted her grip and then swung again. This time she put all of her anger and hatred for Sloane into her swing.

***CRACK!***

She didn't think she'd ever heard so satisfying a sound, or felt such relief when the chair seemingly crumbled in her hands. She looked down at the remainder of the antique chair and saw that it broken into three pieces. The seat had broken apart from the legs, which laid splintered on the ground. However, the armrest that she had been cuffed to was still intact, along with a jagged piece of the chair's backrest. She looked at the broken piece dangling from her wrist. She gripped the armrest tightly and then swung the piece into the door one last time.

There was a dull thud and then she felt the cuff on her wrist go limp as it was finally free of the weight of the chair. There was still a small piece of wood lodged into the cuff loop, which she dispensed with quickly.

She looked at the door. A bit more dented and damaged, but still stubbornly shut and unyielding.

Escaping, however, wasn't her first priority. She raced over to Vaughn. 

She felt a tremendous sense of relief upon discovering that he still had a pulse. It was weak, but he was still breathing. Still alive. Vaughn was still alive. 

She ripped open his shirt and involuntarily gasped at the bloody bullet wound in the middle of his chest. Glancing around quickly, she eyed the white tablecloth on the buffet table. Unceremoniously, she yanked at it, causing plates and dishes to crash to the ground. 

She bunched up a section of the tablecloth and pressed it firmly on the wound, ignoring the sight of Vaughn's blood staining the white fabric. She was letting her training, including the emergency medical training that she had received, take over. 

Keeping one hand on the wound to maintain pressure, she used the other one to touch Vaughn's face. He felt clammy. . a sign of shock. Jumping up, she ran over to the window and yanked down one of the curtains. She grabbed a pillow from one of the sofas on the way back to him. Gently, she eased the pillow under his head and then draped the curtain over his body to keep him warm.

She then resumed applying pressure to the wound. Just then, Vaughn uttered a low, painful groan before he opened his eyes slowly. He blinked several times and stared at her blankly as if he was having trouble seeing her.

"Syd?"

She tried to smile reassuringly. "Hi. How are you feeling?"

He grimaced. "Not too good."

"You'll be O.K.," she said, not really believing her own words. "Just hang on."

He drew in a shaky breath. "Sloane?"

"Don't worry about him," she said soothingly. "Just take it easy."

"Sydney." His voice was still barely above a whisper, but she couldn't miss the urgency in his tone. She inhaled deeply and then met his eyes. "You need to go. You have to go after Sloane. That's the whole point of. . .that's why you're here."

She shook her head. "I can't. . .I won't leave you."

He looked at her for a long moment. "You know you have to."

"Vaughn-"

He reached up and placed his hand on top of hers. The ones trying to stem the flow of blood. "We both know how this ends." He gasped softly.

"Am I hurting you? I'll-"

He exerted a gentle pressure on her hands, stopping her. "In the. . .in the motel. . ." He struggled to get the words out as his breathing became more ragged and shallow.

"Don't try and talk!" She looked at him anxiously. He had grown so pale in the few minutes that he had been conscious.

He shook his head. "You. . .you have to. . .find your way. . .home." He drew in a shaky breath and shut his eyes.

"Vaughn!" 

He opened his eyes and there was naked pain in them. But whether that pain was from his injury, she wasn't really sure. "Not here. . .you can't stay here. You have to. . .to go after. . .S-Sloane."

"I can't leave you!" she cried, growing frantic. 

"You have to go. . .back to. . .him. . .to ***your*** Vaughn." He smiled, and his expressive green eyes conveyed his understanding and acceptance. "If he's like. . .like me. . .I know he's. . .waiting."

"You are Vaughn!" Tears were streaming down her cheeks now. She had never felt so helpless in her entire life. "That's why I'm not leaving you!"

"You need. . .to go."

She shook her head stubbornly. "No! Vaughn, just hang on! Please!"

His breathing had grown labored, sounding as if each shallow breath he drew was causing him intolerable pain. "Go after Sloane!"

The words caused her to experience a strange sense of deja-vu. The last time those words had been directed at her, and just as forcefully, had been in Mexico City. By her mother. She hadn't obeyed then, and had found herself in her current predicament. She was going to ignore Vaughn's command as well, but something in her gut told her that she needed to do what he was asking. . .what he was ordering her to do.

"I-I. . ." she faltered.

"Go," he said softly. He stared at her for a beat before his eyes drooped shut. 

"Vaughn!" She frantically checked for a pulse and felt intensely relieved when she found it. She touched his face with a shaky hand, caressing his cheek for several seconds. If she didn't know better, he looked as if he were sleeping. He looked so peaceful. She bit down on her lips to stop a sob from escaping and then slowly, she lowered her head and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his lips. Then drawing in a deep breath, she resolutely rose, walking towards the door. Once there, she studied the door again, assessing the damage that she had inflicted on it earlier. Though damaged, the door and lock still held steady.

She delivered a forceful kick against the lock and handle. She felt a pain shoot up her leg, but ignored it. She kicked at the door several more times before conceding that she needed a little help. She glanced around the room, deliberately avoiding the area where Vaughn laid, unconscious and bleeding. Her eyes finally rested on a large silver serving spoon lying haphazardly on the floor, amongst the debris of the buffet breakfast.

She rushed over and grabbed the spoon, already working on bending it long before she returned to the door. She studied the lock and handle and then the spoon. Making some quick judgments, she knelt down, pressing her foot on the curved side of the spoon. She then exerted as much pressure as she could, attempting to flatten the spoon's face. When her foot didn't accomplish the task, she picked up another one of Sloane's antique chair and began to pound the spoon with one of the heels of the chair. After a few blows, the spoon's face was sufficiently flattened to her liking.

She picked up the altered spoon and placed the flattened head between the two doors, as close to the lock as possible. Stepping back, she took a deep breath before she aimed a kick at the spoon's handle, jutting out from between the doors. There was a dull 'thwack!' and she felt the spoon handle bend. She bent down to inspect the lock and was relieved to see that her idea had worked. The lock holding the two doors together had been damaged from her kick and the spoon. One end of the lock was twisted and jarred from its place in the door's frame. The backed up and kicked the spoon handle again. The lock was giving away. She kicked the spoon handle one last time before twisting it out from between the two doors. Then, studying the damaged lock again, she picked up the chair and aimed a blow directed at the most damaged part of the lock. At first the doors creaked and stretched in protest, but stubbornly remained shut.

She inhaled and aimed another blow at the door's lock. This time, a dull crack sounded and one of the doors hung crookedly against the other. She glanced at the lock and then grabbed the door's handle and gave a mighty tug. The sound of breaking wood was followed by the doors blessedly swinging open. She instantly was on guard and in fighting position. But there was no one in the hallway.

She cautiously stepped out from the room, not sure what to expect, but nothing happened. And no one was in sight. She stopped, remaining absolutely still and listened. Nothing. It was as if the house was completely abandoned. But she hadn't heard the sound of any cars driving away, nor any other sound of departure. She wondered if Sloane was still here, or if he had taken her father and made yet another getaway.

She cast one last look at Vaughn before she made her way slowly down the hallway. She walked around the house cautiously and found it eerily empty. No sight of anyone, and no sound of any inhabitants at all. She located the front of the house, and the front door, relatively quickly. She unlocked the door slowly and braced herself for the sound of a pealing alarm when she opened the door. But again, she was met with deafening silence. She walked out of the front door, staying against the frame of the house in case there were any guards outside with orders to 'shoot to kill' upon sight of her. Again, nothing. She tentatively stepped out on the grounds and walked down the long driveway.

Sloane's cars were still parked there. The hoods of the cars were cold. She walked further down, and got as far was the end of the driveway, which led to a small dirt road that seemed to go on forever. No other homes or people were visible. 

[What the hell is going on? Where is Sloane? His guards? Is he just letting me go? If he isn't, why isn't anyone trying to stop me?]

But no sooner had she asked the last question that she knew the answer. Sloane knew she wasn't going to escape. For one thing, she had no idea where she was. She could be miles and miles away from the next home or town. But more importantly, it wasn't a matter of Sloane letting her go. It was a matter of her letting him go. And she wasn't about to do that. No matter what it took, she was going to get to Sloane. And make him pay.

Inhaling the fresh air deeply, she jogged back into the house, shutting the door behind her. She made her way back into the house, this time heading for the basement level where she was held. She made a guess that Sloane kept all his prisoners there, which would mean she had a shot at finding her father. She knew her odds were slim, but it was worth a shot.

When she was almost back down to the basement level, a loud crash coming from the front of the house caused her to freeze in her tracks. Listening closely, she heard urgent voices and running footsteps. Footsteps that seemed to be running right at her. Instinctively, she ducked into one of the many rooms and shut the door quietly.

She pressed her ear to the door and listened intently. The footsteps were no longer running, but they were moving quickly. And then she heard it. That distinctively accented voice. Without thinking, she yanked open the door she was hiding behind.

"Mom?!"

Her mother wasn't alone. A big, masked man, dressed in fatigues and carrying a small machine gun whirled at the sound of her voice, aiming his weapon directly at her. Instinctively she held up her hands.

"It's OK!" her mother said firmly, holding up her hands and moving slightly so that she placed her body at an angle between the barrel of the machine gun and Sydney. "Sydney."

She looked at her mother. . .also dressed in fatigues with her long hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her mother was carrying a semi-automatic in one hand, and a small walkie-talkie in the other. On one thigh, a gun holster held another semi-automatic. "W-what. . ."

"Sydney," her mother moved to her, looking concerned. "Are you all right?"

"W-what's. . .why are you. . .what's going on?"

"Are you all right?" her mother repeated firmer. She saw her mother's eyes go to the arm that hand been handcuffed. Her gaze followed her mother's and she was stunned to see blood along her entire arm. Her wrist was bruised and swollen, and her hands were scratched and bleeding. Oddly, she didn't feel any pain at all.

"It's fine," she said, staring at her mother in disbelief. Her mother reached out and took her arm, inspecting it. She impatiently jerked her arm away. "I said I'm fine. What's going on?"

"Please," her mother said softly, indicating her arm. 

She stared at her mother for a moment before she relented and held out her injured arm. The bloodstained cuffs dangled limply from her wrist. Her mother examined the cuffs for a few seconds before she reached into one of the pockets on her pants and pulled out a small key. She inserted it into the lock of the cuffs, gave a few quick twists, and then the lock plopped open. Her mother removed the cuffs from her wrist gently, and placed the cuffs into her pocket.

"Thank you," she said softly. Her mother nodded. "What are you doing here?"

"Where's Sloane?" her mother demanded. She shook her head. If she knew the answer to that, she wouldn't be standing here. "Your father?"

"Tell me what's going on!" she exclaimed loudly. She was more than weary of the lack of answers that she had been getting since waking up in this nightmare. "NOW."

Just then, the walkie-talkie in her mother's hand squawked softly. "Shadow Leader? This is Shadow 1, we have a wounded in the front sitting room. But no sign of Target."

"Who's the wounded?" her mother asked into the walkie-talkie.

"Vaughn," she said softly.

Her mother turned to her. "What?"

"It's Vaughn. Sloane shot him. I don't know if he's still alive. He was in pretty bad shape when I left him."

Her mother looked at her for a beat before she held the walkie-talkie up to her mouth and said tersely, 

"Status of the wounded?"

"Alive, but extremely critical."

[Thank God he's still alive. But for how much longer?]

"You have to get Vaughn out of here and to a hospital!" she said to her mother urgently. "Please! If you're here to take me into custody, then I'll go. I'll cooperate. I don't care. Just please, get Vaughn some help!"

"Sydney," her mother said calmly.

"Please! Just get him some help!"

"Sydney!" This time it was a command. "I'm not here to take you into custody. And Agent Vaughn will be given the medical attention he needs. You don't have to worry."

"Thank you," she said, feeling relieved. [At least he has a chance now.] The rest of what her mother had said suddenly sunk in. "You're not here to take me into custody?"

"Of course not," her mother said, gesturing to her to follow as she resumed following her heavily armed companion down the hall. The man was still masked and checking each room as they passed by. 

"So. . .these men. . .they're not CIA?"

Her mother shook her head. "They're freelance operatives. Mostly retired from the Special Forces. They take on special assignments. . for a price, of course."

"Mercenaries?"

Her mother cast her look. "Your father and I have used them before. Mostly in our search for you."

"So, if you're not here as a federal agent. . .then as what?"

"Your mother," she said, glancing into the room that the man had just gone into. "You have no idea where Sloane is?"

She shook her head. "I think he's still here but I don't know. I checked through the house quickly. . .outside too. . ..there's no sign of anyone."

Her mother stopped and bit her bottom lip. She stared at the ground for several seconds before she finally looked up and said softly, 

"He couldn't have done it. Not without you."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"The Rambaldi device," her mother said, now heading down the flight of stairs that she knew would take them to the basement level. "I have reason to believe that he's planning to activate it again. Today."

She stopped, the implication of her mother's words sinking in. "Sloane is going to activate the Rambaldi device?" Her mother nodded, her expression grim. "B-but. . .why?"

Her mother sighed and stopped at the top of the stairs. She nodded at the man and he proceeded down the steps without her. "I still don't understand it all, Sydney. For the past two years. . .ever since you. . .disappeared, your father and I have worked relentlessly to figure out the Rambaldi prophecy. We've been successful. . .but only to an extent. There's still much that we haven't been able to figure out."

"So how do you know he's going to activate it today?"

"Because of you." 

"So it was your plan all along to lead me right to him?" she demanded, angry.

"No, of course not!" Her mother sighed, and leaned against the railing of the stairs. "Sydney, my goal in sending you here was to reunite you with your father. I knew it was a risk since Arvin keeps such a close eye on Jack. But we were confident that we could get you to Rome and to meet with your father, ***without*** Arvin finding out." Her mother glanced down the stairs for a beat. "It was an incredible risk. . .but we had to take it."

"Why?" she cried. "You just walked right into his trap! You walked ***me*** right into his trap! And you got Vaughn shot. . .probably killed!"

"I understand that you're angry," her mother said, calm in the face of her increasing anger. "But I told you, we had to take the risk. Because in the end, while Arvin needs you to activate the device, you and you alone can destroy it."

"W-what?"

Her mother nodded. "The prophecy, Sydney. 'Unless prevented at vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power-"

". . .onto utter desolation," she finished dully.

"Yes," her mother said quietly.

"So the Rambaldi device is 'the greatest power'?"

Her mother nodded. "It would make sense, wouldn't it? The ability to manipulate the fabric of time? To change events to one's liking? To gain knowledge to things that have yet to be? Arvin possesses the means by which to influence the lives of millions. There's no power greater than that." She was horrified by what her mother said. 

[That kind of power in the hands of someone like Arvin Sloane? The world didn't stand a chance.]

"Sydney," her mother said, her voice urgent. "I understand that you have a lot of questions, but there's no time. We need to find Sloane and your father, ***now.*** Agents from the Task Force, along with several dozen Roman police, are on their way here."

"What!"

Her mother nodded. "The Task Force was tipped off late last night. I barely made it out of the States ahead of the Strike Team."

"But. . ."

"I think Sloane tipped them off."

"What. . .why?"

Her mother shook her head, once again glancing down the stairs. "I don't know, but it all looks like a part of his plan. . .to make you activate the device I think."

Just then, the walkie-talkie in her mother's hand squawked to life. "Shadow Leader, Eagle here. We have a visual on the CIA Task Force. ETA 15 minutes."

Her mother looked at her in dismay before she said into the walkie-talkie,

"Copy. Initiate preliminary security measures." Her mother sighed heavily and turned to her, un-holstering the semi-automatic as she did so. "Here. Take this."

She took the gun, and instinctively chambered a bullet. "What preliminary security measures?"

"We'll try and buy you some time." Her mother held the walkie-talkie up to her mouth once again. "Shadow Team, preliminary security measures have been activated. Begin evacuation now."

"You're going?"

Her mother looked at her for a long moment. "I have to. I'll try and hold the Task Force off as long as possible. If you don't find Sloane within 10 minutes, go out the back and into the woods. About 2 miles north of there, I have a man stationed for extraction if necessary."

The man who had accompanied her mother ran back up the stairs. "Ma'am?"

Her mother nodded at him. "Go. I'll be at rendezvous mark in 5 minutes."

The man ran off, and she looked at his retreating form as a panic grew within her. "I-I. . .I don't know what to do! I don't even know if Sloane is here! What am I supposed to do?"

Her mother placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I don't know either. But. . .I think you'll know when it happens. Just follow your instincts. Whatever you do, you have to know that Sloane has to be stopped. No matter what."

She looked into her mother's eyes, gaining confidence from the strength she saw in them. She nodded. "I just. . .if Sloane. . .if it works. . .everything changes again, doesn't it?"

Her mother nodded and smiled. Her smile was sad, but yet, also full of pride. She touched Sydney's face gently for a brief, emotional moment. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. "You grew up to be so beautiful sweetheart. Whatever happens. . .no matter where you find yourself. . .or me. . .know that I love you."

Tears pooled in Sydney's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She gave a silent sob and then grabbed her mother in a tight embrace. Her mother returned her embrace for several beats before she pulled back. With an encouraging smile, she nodded and then said quietly, 

"Go."

******AND. . . .no, I'm not making y'all wait anymore. For length purposes, I had to split this into 2 postings so do as SpyMommy told you and GO to Part 3 of the Conclusion. See you there! :)********


	13. Conclusion3

A/N – And here you go. . .Part 3. . . .ENJOY. Leave a note on your way out will you? :)

Before she had time to respond, her mother turned and raced down the hallway. She watched her mother for a few seconds before she turned, and started down the stairs. She had no idea if she was going the right way. She didn't even know if Sloane was still here. She moved down the stairs silently, but quickly. She didn't have a watch, but she knew that she didn't have much time before she would have to abandon the search and start for the woods.

But before she was going to do that, she was going to make sure that she made every effort to find Sloane. Or at least some clue as to where he was. She was too close now. 

Back on the basement level, she made her way to the room that held her last night. It was empty now. She stopped and listened for any sound. It was deathly silent.

She could feel her frustration rising. The size of the house was enormous. If Sloane had secret rooms or passages, she wouldn't have enough time to find them. She ran back out into the hallway, taking off in the opposite direction from which she came. She quickly glanced into each room as she passed. Every room was empty.

When she got to the end of the hallway, she stopped and uttered a curse. Loudly. 

[Now what? I've got probably 5 minutes before I have to head for the woods. I can't just run through this house, hoping I'll stumble onto him.]

She let out a grunt of frustration before taking off down the hallway again, heading for the stairs. She was almost at the stairs when she heard, faintly, her father calling her name.

She stopped dead in her tracks and whirled around, trying to figure out where the sound came from. "Dad?"

Silence.

"Dad!"

She forced herself to concentrate. Her father's voice sounded as if it had come from in front of her. It was faint, as if it were coming from behind something. And it sounded as if it were near the stairway. She ran at it and looked around. 

Nothing.

"Sydney, don't—"

She turned and looked again. No sign of her father but his voice was unmistakable. It was coming from the general direction of the stairway. She looked again. And again, she saw nothing. The stairs ended on the basement level. There was a small space behind the stairway, that contained some boxes but it was much too small a space for a person to fit under.

Quickly, she tucked her gun into her waistband and began to feel along the wall surrounding the stairway. It took several minutes before she found it. It was a panel, hidden into the wall trim along the floor. She gently tapped the panel and it sprung open, revealing a simple switch.

Taking her gun out of her waistband, she cocked it and aimed it in the general direction of the stairway. Then, bending down, she flicked the switch.

At first there was nothing. And then a soft whirring sound began and to her amazement, the floor off the side of the stairs began to slide open, revealing a small stairwell that led downwards. To what, she didn't know. But she knew her father was down there somewhere. And if her father was, there was a good chance Sloane was as well.

She stood for a full minute, watching the steps, and waiting to see if anyone emerged. Her gun was at the ready, and she was poised in an attack position, but nothing happened. After the minute passed, she drew in a deep breath and then cautiously edged to the top of the opening.

She peered down the steps and could see very little. She sighed. Of all the times she wished that she had some CIA-issued equipment, it was now. What she wouldn't do for a pocket flashlight. 

All her training and experience was telling her that it was a bad idea to go into an unknown place blind, but she had little choice now. The allotted ten minutes that her mother had given her had passed and she knew that at any moment the Task Force's strike team would be descending upon the house. She ***had*** to go down those dark stairs. 

She clasped the gun tighter in her hands and placed her foot on the first step. And then slowly, down the other. The further down she went, the darker it seemed to get. Soon, she had to grip her gun in one hand while she used the other to feel the wall around the steps as a way to guide herself down. Her nerves were drawn tighter and tighter the further down she got. 

She knew she was in a completely vulunerable position. She was nearly blind, in a precarious position, and holding her weapon in a way that she could be easily disarmed. She swallowed and forced herself to keep going.

[I have no choice.]

And then, she saw a glimmer of light. She forced herself to quicken her pace, and focused on the light that seemed to grow stronger and stronger. Before she knew it, she had reached the bottom step. She quickly stepped into the shadows, letting her eyes get used to the oddly bright light and looked around. Nothing. She listened and could hear the murmur of voices directly in front of her.

She glanced around again, and confident that no one was there, she stepped out from the shadows and made her way forward. She was in a hallway, very similar to the hallways in the house. She guessed that she was in a secret level of the house, one that was accessible only through the hidden stairs that she had just descended.

At the end of the hallway was a door, and from behind the door was the light that she had seen. It was an odd light. It was too powerful to be a simple room light, for from behind the close door, it cast a strong enough glow to illuminate even the furthest end of the hallway. 

She edged closer and closer to the door. She could feel her heart rate picking up, while her breathing grew quicker. Her hands felt sweaty and she gripped her gun even tighter. When she was just outside the door, she angled her head and listened.

At first, there was silence, and then she heard it. Sloane's voice. His unmistakable voice, calmly talking to someone.

She examined the door. It was a pretty standard door, with a single lock under the door knob. At least that was the only lock she could see. There might be a bolt on the other side that she was unaware of. 

But again, she didn't have much choice. So she angled herself in the most optimal position, gripped her gun tightly and then, gritting her teeth, she kicked at the door with all the strength that she could. 

To her surprise, the door gave way. Easily. Perhaps too much so.

The bright light of the room momentarily disoriented her, but she had instinctively rolled into the room and had tucked her body into a defensive position. It took only a few seconds for her eyes to adjust and then she was able to see the room clearly.

She saw her father first. He was bound to a chair, and a gag was tightly wrapped around his mouth. He looked at her with an expression that she could only label as regret. But she didn't have time to dwell on that because her training took over and she continued to assess the room. She only spotted one of Sloane's guards. He was standing near her father. His gun was drawn, aimed at her, but his stance was purely defensive. 

She saw Sloane next. He was standing near the back of the room, and looking at her calmly. His expression was almost. . .proudly paternal. It was as if he expected her to burst into the room just as she had. And he was actually ***proud*** that she had done so.

Before she had a chance to ponder Sloane's expression and the motivation behind it, her roving eyes finally located the source of the bright light. And it was this that made her gasp in shock and forget, momentarily, everything else.

She didn't even know how to describe it. It looked like a windmill. . .a strange, ill-formed windmill. But that was the closest thing she could think of that this. . .***thing*** resembled. It was rather small. . .about the size of a standard TV set, except for the two metallic 'panels' extended outwards. The central core, she could see upon closer inspection, was made from. . .Rambaldi artifacts.

She was on her feet now, staring, as if mesmerized by the device. The Rambaldi device. Il Dire.

It was fascinating. All the artifacts seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces and together, they formed what looked like an engine of some sort. She said engine because certain parts were moving, like pistons in an engine. The device made no noise, except for an imperceptible hum. 

And in the center of the device was the Di Regno heart, which was glowing bright red. Near where the Di Regno heart was 'beating' a bluish-white light emanated from within the device. She could tell, without even having to look behind the device, that the light was coming from inside the device and not from any other source.

And suddenly, she knew. Her mind had flashed briefly back to her conversation with Marshall and she knew, in that instant, that the Rambaldi device was not a time machine. It was, instead, a key.

"Magnificent isn't it?" said Sloane.

His voice jolted her back to reality. She snapped her weapon back up and aimed it straight at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sloane's guard tighten his grip on his own weapon while continuing to aim it at her.

Sloane smiled and held up his hands at his guard. "It's O.K." He turned back to her and indicated the Rambaldi device. "You know what it does, don't you Sydney." She could only nod, not yet fully accepting what her mind had just pieced together moments ago. 

Sloane turned to her father. "You and Laura did a fine job with her, Jack." Her father glared at Sloane, who only smiled before he looked at the device again. "Who would have thought that the Rambaldi artifacts could be pieced together to create something so. . .wonderous? So powerful?"

"That's how you did this," she said, looking at the bright light emanating from the device. She half-expected something to come from it. 

Sloane nodded. "Yes. You understand everything now, don't you?"

She hated to admit it, but she didn't. She still had no idea how her role in the Rambaldi prophecy would allow her to stop Sloane. . .or if she even could given the fact that he had the device, and it was evidently operational.

"I know that you need me," she said, seizing on the piece of information her mother had given her.

Sloane nodded. 'You're right, unfortunately I do need you, Sydney. I say unfortunately because if I had a choice, I wouldn't have brought you into all of this. I wouldn't have brought you here."

"That's a lie!" she cried. "You've planned this for years! It's why you recruited me into SD-6. Why you kidnapped me and brought me here!"

"You're only half-right, Sydney," he said, still as calm as ever. She realized that the calmer he was, the angrier she seemed to get. "I did recruit you into SD-6 because of your role in the prophecy. Yes, I wanted to keep an eye on you, but I also wanted you trained and ready to defend yourself if need be. You need to understand, Sydney, there are many people out there who would like nothing more than to get their hands on this device. And when, not if, they were to discover your role in it, they would have come after you. Had I not taken you under my wing at SD-6, you'd have been entirely vulunerable." He glanced at her father for a brief moment. "Why else did your parents place you into Project Christmas?"

She winced perceptibly and she hated it. She hated showing him how much he could affect her but she couldn't help it. Project Christmas was still a sore subject for her, and learning that it had existed in this world also didn't make it any easier for her to deal with it. She had forgiven her father. She understood his motivations, but that didn't mean it didn't still bother her to have her choices taken away at such a young age.

"So you see, Sydney, I was only completing what your parents had started."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Sloane actually justifying his actions as some sort of. . .protection on her behalf! "You son of a bitch! Don't you dare insinuate that you had my best interests at heart! What you did, you did for yourself!"

"If that were true, you'd have been dead long ago, Sydney." He looked at her, his eyes daring her to challenge him. "The operations you were sent out on while at SD-6, some of the. . .***missteps*** shall we say were glaringly obvious. Of course, I couldn't prevent all probes into the matter, but I certainly protected your double agent status for a very long time."

She said nothing. But a small part of her agreed with him. In hindsight, she could name more than a few occasions where it was now obvious that Sloane would have been able to figure out her double agent status if he had really wanted to. Despite the fact that she was an exceptional intelligence agent, she had made more than a few stupid mistakes. Mistakes that should have cost her both her cover, and her life. 

But the thought of Sloane having anything to do with her well-being or even ***protecting* **her was anathema. She couldn't, she wouldn't, accept it. 

[He always has an ulterior motive. Always!]

"Didn't you find it odd, Sydney," Sloane said conversationally, "that when you awoke in Hong Kong, you had no bruises and your injuries had scarred over? You were just in a deadly fight with Fran-. . .I mean with Allison only a day or so before."

"You did something to me. When you pulled me. . .here, you did something."

He nodded. "Yes, I did. I cared for you. Tended to your injuries." He looked at her with an expression that she would have classified as 'tender' if the thought of doing so didn't make her physically ill. "The prophecy might have required me to take you, but it didn't require me to harm you. And I haven't."

"You ***are*** crazy," she said, staring at him in disbelief. "You have done nothing but harm me! Starting with your lies and your. . .sick obsession with Rambaldi. Do you homestly think taking me to some. . .some screwed up version of our past ***isn't*** harmful? That you're doing this for my benefit?!"

"I understand your anger-"

"I don't care if you understand my anger!" she cried. "You stole two years of my life! You took me and you. . .you. . ." She was so angry that she couldn't even get the words out anymore. "You're gonna pay for this!"

He remained nonplussed. "So now what Sydney? Are you going to arrest me? Use me as your way back into the CIA's good graces?"

He wasn't mocking her, but he might as well have been because he was right. She really didn't know where to go from here. She couldn't go back to the CIA. Even if she used Sloane as a bargaining chip, there was still too much that she couldn't explain. She would still end up with the DSR.

[But I'll be damned if I let Sloane see how confused or scared I am!]

She pointed her gun at him. "You're going to fix this."

He smiled. "Fix it how?"

She suppressed the urge to shoot him. "You know how."

He studied her a moment and then he chuckled. "But you don't, do you?" He turned to her father. "Are you telling me Jack, that in all this time, ever since you discovered my, ah, presence, you and Laura haven't managed to figure out Sydney's role in it all?"

He father kept his expression blank, but she could see in his eyes that what Sloane said was true. And that scared her. Her father ***always*** knew what to do. He didn't always do the right thing but at least he always had a course of action. The fact that he didn't now deeply scared her.

"All this time?" she asked.

Sloane nodded. "For close to two years now."

"What!"

"You really have been missng Sydney. At least ***here.*** Here, you've been MIA for close to two years."

His words sank in, slowly and to devastating effect. "You mean you didn't. . .the device didn't. . ."

"No," Sloane said simply. "The device didn't. . .I guess open would be the best word, in Hong Kong several days ago. It opened approximately two years ago, shortly after you decided to be a double agent."

"You've had me. . .all this time?"

"I told you, Sydney. I took care of you. You were in terrible shape when you were located. So after I activated the device, with your help of course, I kept you. . .well, I kept you safe and let you heal."

"I would have woken up long before two years! My injuries weren't that serious."

"You're right," he agreed. "But I couldn't chance it, so I had you placed in an induced coma."

"You did what!" Her anger, always bubbling beneath the surface when she was in Sloane's company was threatening to explode. Very much like it had done in the sitting room earlier that day.

"I had no choice, Sydney. I couldn't just let you go. Not in your condition. And I knew once you were better, you would have questions and attempt to find the answers. That was the. . .best course of action."

"For you!" she cried with vehement hatred. "My God! You deliberately placed me in a coma for two years? I could have. . . ." She stopped and shook her head. There were times, like this, that Sloane's actions truly shocked her. She knew she shouldn't be shocked at anything by now, but the depths to which he sank. . . .the things that he was capable of. . .they still shocked, and sickened, her. "You. . .you're depraved. You don't care about anyone but yourself, do you?"

"That's not true, Sydney. We both know that I'm capable of caring for others."

She stared at him, as the implication of his words hung between them. "Emily."

He nodded. "Yes, Emily."

"Is that why you did this? To get Emily back?"

"Partly. Her death motivated me more, I'll concede. But when I learned, fully, about the device's capabilities, I was as determined as ever." He sighed. "Besides, this was a 30 year journey. By the time I had all the pieces in place, it was long past the point of giving up, or finding a motivator."

"Where is she?"

"She's safe. For now."

"You haven't told her, have you? About what you've done. . .what you're doing."

He shook his head. "I will." 

"She betrayed you when she found out before. She'll do it again. Emily has too much. . .integrity. . .to ever stay with you if she really knew you."

He smiled. "Yes, she did betray me. But in the end, she understood, Sydney. She was going to come with me. Despite everything. I'm confident she'll understand this as well. She has put up with my obsession for well over 2 decades now. . .we're both in this for the long run."

"Guess you've got it all figured out, huh?"

"No," he said softly. "Just what I need."

"Except me," she said, defiantly. "I'm never going to help you activate that thing."

He nodded, as if expecting her to say that. "I only wanted a. . .new start." He turned to her father. "I really wanted things different, Jack. But you and Laura, you've made that impossible. First by forcing my hand and making me release Sydney." He turned back to her. "And I suspected that once you were released, you would try to figure things out. I had hoped that having you in CIA custody and monitored would have prevented that. But then your mother manuevered her way into the leadership position within the Task Force." He turned again to her father. "And you, Jack. I had hoped that exchanging you for Sydney would have allowed me to maintain some control over you." He smiled ruefully. "I should have known better, but my personal feelings for all of you got the better of me." He looked at her and shook his head. "Even dumping you in Hong Kong, hundreds of miles away from here, didn't detract either you or your parents."

He walked over and held out his hand. His guard silently handed him the gun. As she watched the exchange, she had a horrifying sense of deja-vu. 

"No!" she cried. 

"I'm sorry, Sydney. I've done everything I could to avoid this. But you've made it impossible. All of you." He turned to her father, aiming his gun directly at her father's head. "Especially you, Jack. Somehow you managed to sneak communication to Laura and gained the DSR's attention."

"You don't have to do this!" She tried to find an angle by which to shoot Sloane, but his guard stayed close to his side, making any attempt on Sloane impossible. She could take the guard out, certainly, but by the time she did so, Sloane would have shot and killed her father.

"I'm afraid I do. The decision was made long ago. When the DSR began investigating Rambaldi, I knew I couldn't settle here. There are simply too many questions and sooner or later, I would have been found. And I can't risk that." He glanced at the device. "It's time to move on. Permanently."

"I-I'll help you. You don't need to do this!"

Sloane looked at her grimly. "And then what?"

"What?"

"After you agree to activate the device, then what? You'll just let me go?" He shook his head. "No, you see, Sydney, you'll just come after me wherever we end up. And since this time you'll be conscious when you activate the device, you'll know how to operate it, which makes things even riskier for me."

"No! No, I'll-I'll stay here. I won't follow you."

"That's impossible, I'm afraid." He gestured to the device. "You see, as I'm sure you've already figured out, the device opens the portal. The entry to the wormhole that connects time. . .and dimensions. But you, my dear, you and you alone activate the device. And in order to activate it, you must be with the device. There's no way for you to simply stay here while I and the device go through the wormhole."

Her mind was racing. She didn't know what to do. Sloane was determined. There was no mistake. And she knew, no matter the history between her father and Sloane, that Sloane would not hesitate to execute her father if he needed to.

"Then I'll. . ." She stopped, searching desperately for something, anything, that might change his mind. "I'll. . .just. . .I'll stay out of your way. Wherever we end up, I'll. . .forget this."

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew that she was lying. And from Sloane's expression, he knew it as well. "No, you won't." He looked at her a beat before he turned back to her father and cocked the gun.

"No!" she yelled, and made a move towards Sloane. She stopped when she saw his guard move towards her. She would never make it. "W-what. . .that's not gonna. . ..you kill him and I swear, I ***swear*** I will do everything in my power to hunt you down. I don't care what happens, where we end up. . .I'll never stop coming after you."

Sloane considered her words and nodded. "I know. But I'm hoping, that by showing you. . .***here*** what can happen, it'll deter you. . .later."

"You're sick," she whispered, stunned. 

He shook his head. "No, I'm determined. You need to understand that Sydney." He turned to her father again and leveled the gun.

In her panicked desperation, an idea suddenly hit her. She whirled and fired at the device, deliberately missing it, but shooting close enough to get Sloane's attention.

"No!" he yelled, turning away from her father.

"I'll destroy it." Her voice was steely. "And then no one is going anywhere. ***Ever***"

"You don't want to do that, Sydney."

"I don't?" she challenged, cocking her gun.

"You'd be stuck here forever. And I know you don't want that."

"No," she conceded. "But you'd be stuck here too."

He shrugged. "You're right. But I could always just. . .disappear. I'm dead in this world, remember? Presumed dead at least. But you. . .you're wanted by the US government. By the DSR. And your friends. . they're gone, Sydney. And I'd venture to guess that after today's events, your mother will be joining you soon in federal custody. And Agent Vaughn. . ." He paused and looked at her a beat. "I suppose he may survive the injury. Or he may not. Either way, with you in DSR custody, you don't have a chance. And your father. . .his predicament hasn't changed."

She wanted to scream and hurl herself at Sloane. She was beginning to see the 'genius' of his plan. He had been a step ahead this entire time. He had gone 'back' in time long enough so that his knowledge of Rambaldi would allow him to acquire all the needed artifacts. And with her 'missing' she hadn't been able to impede his work, nor had the CIA. The time period would have also allowed him to manipulate events to his liking, including the downfall of the Alliance. And then when her parents had gotten too close, he had arranged it so that she would be taken back into CIA custody in such a state as to insure DSR's involvment. But when that plan hadn't worked accordingly, he had set in motion events that would make her remaining in this world impossible. He had all but assured that she would activate the device. . .whether she wanted to or not.

Suddenly, she finally understood. And she finally accepted. Not only her role in the prophecy, but her role in stopping Sloane. It was odd. In the craziness. . .the desperation. . .of this moment. . .that was when she began to see things clearly. For the first time ever. Her mother had been right. When the time had come, she did know what to do.

She knew suddenly that fighting Sloane. . .letting her anger and hatred towards him control her actions wasn't the right way to go. The more she struggled against him, the more she hated, the worse her situation became.

[Bind them with fury. A burning anger, unless prevented at vulgar cost, this woman will render the greatest power unto utter desolation.]

The words of the prophecy played in her mind and she understood. Since she had been taken here, Sloane had done nothing but to incite her anger. . .her rage. Why else had he complimented her when she had attacked him in the sitting room? Why else had he shot Vaughn? Or was threatening to shoot her father? All of his actions had been done with one goal in mind – to incite her to fury.

[And I made it too easy for him.]

She looked at the device and once again, the Di Regno heart caught her attention. She wasn't sure how to activate the device, but something told her that the Di Regno heart played a key role in it. 

And then, she suddenly knew. Knew what the prophecy meant. And what her role was. And as hard as it was, with all the memories and pain from the past few days, not to mention the last two years, she forced herself to release the anger she felt towards Sloane. To release the hatred she felt for him.

She turned to Sloane and held up her hands. She indicated her gun which she slowly lowered to the ground. Straightening, she kicked the gun away from her, towards the opposite side of the room.

"O.K.," she said softly, continuing to hold her hands up. "You win. What do you want me to do?"

Sloane looked at her, considering her dramatic change in attitude. He lowered the gun he was holding to her father's head. . .but only slightly. "I know you're planning something Sydney. Whatever it is. . .it's not going to work."

"I'm not," she said, feeling an odd sense of calm enveloping her. [It's funny. Dealing with Sloane without anger, without hatred, it was. . .comforting. And clear. I'm finally seeing things clearly for the first time in a long time.]

"I still have to do this," he said, once again raising the gun and pointing it at her father's head.

She nodded, as if accepting it. She looked at her father and forcused as hard as she could, hoping to somehow convey, silently and without code, what she was planning. Her father stared at her, unblinkingly for a second, before he nodded imperceptibly. She gave him one last look, conveying all the emotions she couldn't articulate before she turned and started running with all her might at the Rambaldi device.

Her father must have understood her, because there was a loud 'Thud!' followed by Sloane's cry of surprise, and a gunshot. She chanced a quick glance back and saw that her father had managed to knock himself over so that he and the chair had fallen on Sloane, momentarily pinning him down, and dislodging the gun from Sloane's hand. 

"No!" she heard Sloane cry. "Stop her!"

She had reached the device and frantically ran her hands over the heart, looking for a lever, switch, ***anything*** that would activate it. She didn't get very far when she felt strong hands on her shoulder, roughly pulling her off the device.

Instinctively, she used her momentum and swung a complete circle, throwing the guard off balance. Once she regained her footing, she unceremoniously kicked the guard viciously in the groin, using all her strength. He uttered a cry of pain and keeled forward. She knotted her hands together and swung, aiming for his nose as he feel forward. The combination of his own motion, and her focused power knocked him completely off balance. He fell backwards with a loud thump. Before he could have the chance to recover, she quickly moved and delivered the knock-out blow to his head.

"Stop!"

She whirled and found Sloane, looking angry for the first time since she's seen him, standing behind her father, his gun held directly to her father's temple.

"Get away from there. . .now."

She stayed where she was, glancing between the device and Sloane. She still couldn't see where. . .or how to activate the device. But she knew it had to be near the heart. She just knew it. She glanced at all the artifacts quickly. . .growing slightly frantic. And then she saw it. There was a small space, off the side of the Di Regno heart, and easy to miss.

She glanced into the space and saw that there was a crude handprint, gleaming brightly. It appeared as if the light was originating from there.

A gunshot jolted her from her concentration. She looked quickly at Sloane and her father. Her father was still alive, but there was blood now dripping from his thigh. She looked closer and saw the fresh bullet wound. She quickly looked at her father, who was stoically refusing to give in to the pain.

"That is the last and only warning you get."

She looked at Sloane, anger rising in her again. [No! Stop! No anger. . .no hatred. It's the only way.] She girtted her teeth and drew in a series of quick breaths in an effort to calm herself.

"This has to end," she said softly. "And I know just how to do it." 

"Do you? What makes you think that the things that happen here won't affect things . . .later? Time isn't entirely linear, but there's still certain laws to be obeyed. You don't know that if your father is killed now. . that he won't remain dead."

She looked at her father, letting Sloane's words sink in. She hadn't considered that possibility. Honestly, she had naively thought that the world as she remembered it was somehow encapsulated. . .exactly as she remembered it. . .and just waiting for her return. She knew, however, the odds of that weren't good. If things had changed here because of something that Sloane had done two years ago, then things done now, they would affect tomorrow. . .next month. . .next year. . .or whatever time and place she found herself.

Her father caught her eyes then, and she understood the feelings he was conveying to her silently. She nodded, and took a deliberate step towards the device. "I have nothing to lose. You made sure of that."

"But you don't have to lose everything, Sydney. You work with me, and I promise you, we can find a way to co-exist. We don't need to constantly be at odds and risking other people's lives." He made a gesture towards the device. "There was a reason I was placed on the quest to assemble that device Sydney, and a reason why you were the one Rambaldi prophesized about. Clearly, we were meant to work together. We could use that device to do real good." He smiled. "There was a time when I believed in doing good. . .in fighting the good fight."

She shook her head. "You don't get it. No one should have this kind of power. Least of all you."

"You don't give me any choice then," said Sloane. He looked at her father, and then at her, and before she knew it, he had raised the gun, and fired. . .directly at her. She didn't feel anything at first, and then a hot, burning pain seared her left shoulder. She uttered a cry and crumpled to her knees as the pain overwhelmed her.

She saw Sloane walking towards her, gun raised. She forced herself to focus on the Rambaldi device, and with a great surge of strength, she pushed herself up and ran towards the device, hand outstretched and aiming for the small space.

"No!" There was another gunshot in her direction, but she ignored it. Everything in her was focused on reaching the device, and inserting her hand into the space near the Di Regno heart.

It seemed too take forever to close the few feet separating her from the device, but at last, she reached it and without hesitation, she jammed her hand into the small space, fitting her fingers within the handprint. Of course, it fitted perfectly.

A radiant heat encompassed her hand, and she instinctively felt like jerking her hand away, like someone who had touched a flame, but she kept her hand there. The imperceptible hum of the device grew louder until it became a whistling, and the light grew brighter, and more focused, until she felt as if she were shrouded in it.

"No!"

Sloane's voice seemed very far away until she felt his hands on her shoulder. He wasn't pulling her away, but felt as if he were hanging onto her. She gritted her teeth, and with one quick, strong, and painful movement, twisted so that she elbowed him. She felt her elbow make solid contact with rib cage and heard him grunt in pain. Ignoring the shooting pain in her injured shoulder, she elbowed him again and felt him fall away from her body. Turning so that she could look behing her while keeping her hand inside the device, she found Sloane kneeling near her feet.

The bright light had grown so much now that it seemed to encompass the entire room. It was so bright now that she could no longer see her father, or Sloane's guard. The only things visible were those within reaching distance from her. Acting instinctively, she lifted her leg, and kicked Sloane, so that he fell further away from her. 

"No, Sydney! Don't! You don't-"

She said nothing, only looking at him. Their eyes held for a brief instant and a world of understanding passed between them then. His eyes bore traces of regret and loss, while hers shone with determination. With all the strength that she had left, she reared her leg back and gave Sloane a swift kick, sending him hurling backwards and into the light. His cry of pain was cut off abruptly as he fell back, into the light, and out of her sight. 

She looked around. All she could see was the bright light. And all she could hear was the strange, almost eerie whistling, sound. And then, abruptly, the whistling began to die down and she could see the light dimming on the outer edges, as if shrinking back towards the device.

[I guess this is it.]

She drew in a shaky breath and then, jerked her hand out of the device quickly. Then, without pause, she placed both her hands around the Di Regno heart and tugged. It held fast at first but after 3 hard tugs, it finally gave away. She fell backwards, landing on her back and hitting her head on the hard. . .something.

Pain and dizziness overwhelmed her consciousness, and she fought to stay awake. It was a losing battle, however, and before she blacked out, she was able to get in a quick prayer.

[Please God, wherever I am, please let it be OK. Please.]

**********CIA Hospital, May 22, 2003, Evening**********

Consciousness was painful.

That was her first thought. It was as if every single nerve in her body was in pain. . .and letting her know it. She groaned softly.

"Sydney?" a familiar voice asked her. A voice that made her heart swell with hope. But she was scared so she resisted opening her eyes. If that voice was some figment of a lingering dream, some subconscious manifestation of her wildest dream, she didn't want to erase it by giving into consciousness. 

"Syd."

[Oh, God. . .please, please, don't let this be a dream.]

With a soft groan, she slowly opened her eyes. She winced and uttered a cry of protest against the bright light. She blinked rapidly to let her vision adjust and then, once she saw clearly, she could see that she was in a hospital room. She was suddenly aware of the soft beeps and whirls of medical machinery. She shifted and was rewarded with a jolting pain.

"Hey, easy, easy."

She closed her eyes momentarily and braced herself before she opened her eyes and shifted her gaze towards that familiar voice. Towards ***his*** voice.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry when his green eyes met hers with an expression of utter joy. So she settled for a shaky smile.

"Welcome back," he said softly, brushing the hair from her face. 

"You're alive," she blurted out without thinking.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Where am I?"

"Naval base hospital." He touched her head with a shaky hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh. . ."

"Let me get a doctor," he said, rising and heading for the door.

"No!" she cried, and grabbed at his hand. Her abrupt movement caused a new wave of pain to wash over her, but she ignored it. There were more important things. [Like where the hell I am now.]

His hand gripped hers in return and he settled back down by her bedside. She finally looked at him for the first time and was surprised by what she saw. He was unshaven, his hair was mussed and the lines on his face seemed more prominent. He looked disheveled, as if he had spent the night, many nights, in a chair or some other uncomfortable place. But his eyes, though bloodshot and weary, shone with love, recognition and familiarity for her. 

Her heart swelled with hope and when she realized she was still holding his hand, his left hand, she allowed her thumb to feel along his fingers. 

No ring.

Her heart began to beat a little faster. She looked at him for a second, gathering courage to ask what she wanted, needed, to ask.

"Y-you're not married?"

His forehead crinkled in confusion, which was quickly followed by concern. Then his expression melted into one of tender intimacy and he whispered, as he stroked her cheek softly,

"Not yet."

A sob/laugh escaped from her lips. "Oh, God."

"Syd, are you OK?"

She nodded, as a tear rolled down her cheek. "M-my Dad?" His expression grew concerned and that swell of hope that had been rising in her heart stopped just as suddenly. "Vaughn, my Dad, he's OK? Please!"

"Shh, Syd," he said soothingly. "Your father's fine. He's. . .on a mission. I'll ask Weiss to send word to him that you're awake." He leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her head. "Now, I really think I should get a doctor to examine you."

"No! Wait!" 

"Syd, I really think-"

"J-Just tell me. . .what happened?"

He resumed his position by her bed. "You don't remember?"

"Uh. . . ." She searched her mind for an appropriate response. Not sure what, or where, she had found herself, she wasn't quite sure what to reveal. Her experiences left her uneasy, and distrustful. 

"Syd?"

She looked back at him and saw his love, concern and his protectiveness of her and she remembered. She remembered ***that*** Vaughn. . .and his loyalty towards her no matter what. She remembered how he was willing to risk everything for her, despite the fact that there would be no payoff for him. And she remembered how easy it was to trust him. 

She realized then that no matter where she was now, or where she had been, there had been constants. Her father's love and protection for her above all else. Her mother's enigmatic presence. And Vaughn's love and loyalty. If she could trust anyone, anywhere, and at any time, it was Vaughn.

"Uh, I was fighting Francie. . .Francie's double."

No sign of shock, surprise or confusion which was definitely a good sign. "That's all you remember?"

"The rest. . .is kind of blurry," she said softly.

He expelled a slow breath, all the while, stroking her head gently, as if he needed the physical contact. "You. . ." He shook his head. "You were gone. W-when I came back. . .later. . .your place, it was a mess. There was blood everywhere and-"

"Oh my God! Will?"

"He's OK." Vaughn smiled. "He's was in this hospital too. He was released a week ago."

"Good, " she said, offering a silent prayer. The more Vaughn told her, the less uneasy she began to feel. It was as if she really were 'back'.

"Do you want me to-" She nodded in response to his silent question. "Um, I came back and your place was. . .completely trashed. But you were. . .gone."

"What?"

"When Will gained consciousness, he told us about Francie and the rest, we kind of pieced together." He closed his eyes briefly, as if a memory was still too painful. "I-I thought. . .I don't know what I thought. Some days I knew you were alive and others. . .it just felt like you were really gone." He cleared his throat. "Uh, anyway, the Task Force did everything they could to find you and we weren't having much luck when a few days ago, you surfaced in Rome. Your father and I, we went to get you and after you were stable enough, you were transferred from the hospital in Rome back to here."

"Los Angeles?"

He nodded and looked at her inquisitively. "You really don't remember what happened after your fight with Francie?"

She looked at him, contemplating. She knew she'd tell him the truth. Eventually. But not right now. "I. . .where's my father? You said he's on a mission?" Vaughn looked down, and then subconsciously swiped his nose. She couldn't help but smile at the familiar gesture. "Vaughn?"

"It's uh. . .not CIA-sanctioned."

Somehow she knew. "Sloane?"

He looked at her, surprised. "H-how. . .uh, yeah."

"Sloane's here?"

Another look of surprise. "Of course. He disappeared in Mexico City, remember? We haven't seen nor heard from him since but your father is convinced that Sloane had something to do with your disappearance and then reappearance. He left for Nepal yesterday, saying he was going to track down a common friend that he and Sloane had." He eyed her curiously. "How'd you know that your father's looking for Sloane?"

She shrugged and a searing pain coursed through her shoulder. She groaned in pain. "Hey, easy. . .you got shot in that shoulder, remember?"

[What!]

She turned her head and peered at her left shoulder. Sure enough, a big bandage swathed her entire left shoulder and part of her arm. Instinctively, she glanced at her wrist. Sure enough, the wrist that had been badly bruised and bloody from her attempts to get out of the cuffs was also bandaged. Her mind raced, trying to calculate all the possibilities and she found that she couldn't. There were too many unanswered questions. . .and only one other person would fully understand. 

She sighed. She didn't know whether Sloane had somehow managed to cross through the wormhole with her. She couldn't even believe that she was talking about crossing wormholes! The last few days. . .weeks. . .they had been untterly incredible and she knew it would take that much time, if not more just to figure everything out. 

She hoped that she had time for that. And she hoped she had time to build on her relationships. With Will. With her father. With Vaughn. And even with her mother. She knew she was no longer the same person she was before all of these fantastic events had occurred, and the world she was in now was probably different too. But there were always her constants. That was enough. . .for the time being.

Still, one thing nagged at her. One thing that she needed to ask. "Did you find the Rambaldi device?"

He looked stunned as he shook his head. "No. . .but when we found you, you had the Di Regno heart that was stolen from the NSC."

"I-I did?"

"You don't remember that?"

She shook her head, considering Vaughn's words. [So if I did manage to disable the device by removing the heart, what happened to the rest of it? I wonder if Sloane got it?] "Where's the heart now?"

He shook his head. "The NSC lost custody of it based on their previous ineptitude with safeguarding Rambaldi artifacts, so Langley took possession. Last I heard, it was in a secure, undisclosed location." She nodded, but said nothing. "Syd, the CIA. . .the whole Task Force, actually, they're gonna want to know what happened. Where you were, how you got to Rome, who shot you, how you got the Di Regno heart. . .are you sure you don't remember?"

She smiled. She should have been worried, but yet she wasn't. Her experience with Sloane, and with the Rambaldi device somehow lent her a sense of peace. . .of calmness. She didn't doubt that she'd be intensively debriefed once released from the hospital, but she also had confidence that with Vaughn and her father, and possibly even her mother, watching out for her, she would make it through OK. And even if Sloane had somehow made it 'back' here with her, she knew now how to best handle him. 

There would always be questions. Some that wouldn't ever be answered. But she could accept that because the questions that she needed answers to, she would find. She was confident of that.

"I'll, uh. . .I'll tell you later, OK?" she asked him with a smile as she stroked his hand. "But right now, I'm. . .I'd rather talk about something else."

"What?"

"Our trip."

"Trip?"

She grinned. "Santa Barbara. The beach. The Biltmore. La Super Rica." 

He chuckled softly as he leaned closer to her, almost resting his head against her own. "I didn't think you'd remember."

"I wouldn't forget that."

"OK, then," he said with a happy smile. "As soon as we can, we're going there."

"Great," she said with a soft laugh. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her lips and she knew it then. She was truly right where she belonged. It didn't matter that things had changed, or would change. That was the nature of their lives. But there were constants, there were things that didn't change. **Ever**. And those things were enough. "But Vaughn? I still want to go the zoo to see that giraffe."

Their mingled laughter filled the hospital room, and she let the sound comfort and heal her.

Fin. :) 


End file.
